


The Human Stain

by morgana_l



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Denial, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Infidelity, Light BDSM, M/M, Obsession, Origin Story, POV Multiple, Pureblood Politics, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 16:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11016795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgana_l/pseuds/morgana_l
Summary: The year is 1978. The first war is at its peak. Bellatrix Lestrange struggles to prove her abilities and to take her rightful place in the Death Eaters Circle, as she develops a dark obsession with the Dark Lord himself. Severus Snape is torn between his loyalty to the one place where he is wanted and his love for his former childhood friend, who is married to his greatest enemy. And Regulus Black, the disappointing heir, finds himself thrust into a world of darkness that will destroy him.





	1. Introduction to Bellatrix

 

Bella was bored. She was sitting in the gallery above the castle courtyard, in the honorary seat of the school beneficiaries, watching the seventh years' graduation ceremony form above. The day was particularly hot. The cool stone walls that surrounded the courtyard couldn't shield it from the bright sun, and the graduating students were sweating in their dress- robes. Behind them, the other students and the families were no better off, even though most of them had taken off their robes and rolled up their sleeves.

In the gallery the shade was very pleasant, but still too hot. To Bella's right, her sister Narcissa was watching the stage with a pair of delicate spectacles that zoomed in and out to follow every movement of the speaker. With her other hand she waved a stylish lace fan to cool her face, her silver-blond hair pulled behind her shoulders to reveal her soft white neck. To her left, her Aunt Walburga appeared very uncomfortable in the thick black robe she had chosen to wear, too proud to fold up her sleeves or loosen her collar. Her humorless face was shiny with sweat, ruining her obvious attempt to obscure the signs of aging from her skin.

Bella, on the other hand, wasn't going to get all sweaty. She had removed her stockings, lifted her dress up to her thighs, rolled up her sleeves and opened the first two buttons of her robe. She pulled up her elbow- length black hair, which was full and wild, to a loose bun to cool her neck. Then she sat comfortably, swinging one shoe on her toes as she tried not to doze. The head of the School Board had been talking forever, or so it seemed. She was aware of the reprimanding looks her aunt and uncle were giving her, and the resenting eye- rolls that her sister's haughty fiancee, Lucius Malfoy, wasn't trying to hide, but she couldn't think of anything that would interest her less at that moment. The only reason she was there was because she had promised her parents to take upon herself some of the family duties, now that she was to be married. Going to Hogwarts beneficiaries events seemed to be the lesser evil of many tiresome duties, and also – she know it would give her a chance to talk to Sirius.

The head of the School Board finally finished his tedious speech and descended from the stand, wiping his face vigorously. He was followed by the school Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

Unlike any normative person, the old wizard didn't seem to suffering from the heat. On the contrary – he looked remarkably cheerful in his thick velvet cloak, and his long white beard seemed airy and not burdensome at all.

"Dear students, teachers, and parents," he began, and everyone listened eagerly. Bella studied the edges of a stubborn black curl. "The wonderful class that stands here before you is, as you have already heard from our dear head of the School Board, the two- hundred- and- thirteenth class to graduate from Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Many great qualities have been attributed to these exceptional boys and girls, in the class that is considered to be one of the best that Hogwarts had seen in many year. That said, the parting gift I wish to give you, my dear children, is a warning."

The old Headmaster surveyed the graduating seventh- years gravely over his glasses; A look that was nevertheless full of worry, and of love soaked in sadness. A shadow seemed to fall over the crowd under the blazing sun.

"The world which you are entering is a beautiful world, full of opportunities and possibilities. However, there are also many dangers, especially in the dark days of our present. The shadow of Voldemort's dark intentions hangs above us all."

A wave of discontent passed through the crowd at the name. Bella shivered uncontrollably in the hot air, her interest in the speech growing at the mention of the Dark Lord.

"Some of you will stand firm against this darkness, out of a pure desire to make the world we live in a better place. Others will decide not to chose a side. And the rest – the rest will stand by this tyrant and support his evil plans..." Next to Bellatrix, Aunt Walburga was nodding to herself as she listened to the speech intently, a crease forming between her brows. "Whatever side you my choose, my children, do not forget the lessons you have learned here, at Hogwarts. Do not forget that anyone who was born with the gift of magic has the right to use it for good. And always remember that all of you were once children, small and uncertain, when you first crossed the lake and entered this castle together. You were all innocent, sweet and carefree once. My advice to you, before you spread your wings and leave this place that has been your home in the past seven years, is this – remember that all people are born equal, and are equal again as they face death. Thank you, and good luck."

After the speech, which was too emotional to Bella's taste, the seventh years were called one by one to the stage in order to receive their Trained Wizard Certificate. Bella recognized almost every Slytherin who came on to the stage from her school days, or from social gatherings she would sometimes attend. She recognized Avery, who smiled at all the teachers with an almost threatening personal charm as he shook their hands, and also Amycus Carrow and his ugly twin sister Alecto, who went up to the stage one after the other.

One of the last Slytherins to come up to get his certificate was Severus Snape, who walked up with almost no applause. He he shook the teachers' hands quickly, as if to complete an unpleasant duty, and descended awkwardly with his greasy hair falling over his grim, unpleasant face, holding the certificate as if it were his most precious possession.

Bella also recognized one Ravenclaw, Barty Crouch, whose father was sitting in front of her in the gallery. He was busy writing an urgent message to the Ministry of Magic while his son was receiving his diploma. If he and only known where she had seen Barty Crouch Jr, and what people he had befriended while he was busy becoming the new Minister for Magic. Bella thought it was delightfully ironic.

Sirius was one of the first Gryffindors' to go on stage. Bella's cousin won a loud round of applause from his classmates, and to a variety of bitter and disappointed looks from his parents. He gave all the teachers his famous smile, known for its almost magical abilities of enchantment, and most of them rewarded him with appreciating smiles and firm handshakes.

"Such a shame," Bella heard Malfoy mumble in her sister's ear. "If I had been related to him, I would have been ashamed to honor this traitor with my presence at his graduation ceremony, especially after he had been so disgracefully disowned last year..."

"It's funny you should day that. Soon he will actually be your relative, Lucius," Bella told him loudly. "It would be wonderful, don't you think? You could show him off to all your little friends."

Narcissa gave Bella a meaningful look. Her fiancee snorted in Bella's direction and returned to the ceremony, avoiding Walburga's sharp gaze.

What a perfect couple, Bella thought bitterly, this golden-haired pair. Their mother had decided that her youngest daughter would marry Malfoy the moment she had seen him, because she though they would have beautiful children. Recently Bella had realized why they seemed like such a good pair; Malfoy's unconcerned arrogance and extravagance came in stark contrast to her sister's submissive humility. A perfect match indeed.

The ceremony couldn't end sooner for Bella. As the last student left the stage, she was already on her way down the steps that lead to the courtyard. She moved gracefully in the crowd of Hogwarts graduates who streamed neatly between the seats toward the grounds, where the refreshments awaited, and noticed Sirius walking with his friends, the blood-traitors from Gryffindor. His step was graceful – almost feline – and made him stand out in the crowd of sweaty teenagers. Bella caught up with him and linked her arm with his, walking with him.

"What do **you** want?" He said, looking at her the way one would look at a repulsive disease. He tried to free himself from her grasp, but she pressed her arm to his side forcefully.

"Don't embarrass us in front of everyone, cousin," she purred in his ear, knowing he dreaded making a scene when it involved his family. "I just want to have a word with you."

Even if she wanted to, she couldn't have ignored the pleasant sensation of his firm arm close to her body. It was regrettable that a faulty creation such as Sirius was the most handsome, attractive and talented man born under the Black name. His black hair was pulled back from his forehead with natural grace, and sparkling beads of sweat gathered in the hollow of his neck. The top button of his robe was open, exposing a delicious patch of skin and a few black, masculine hair. Sometimes Bella was sorry he had come out of such a rotten apple, and her father had asked his sister to cancel their engagement.

"I don't want to hear what you have to say," he snarled like an angry puppy.

His regular companion, James Potter, glanced at them over his shoulder. Bella hated everything about him, from his long legs to his stupid spectacles.

"Keep on walking, Potter," she said in his direction. He opened his mouth to reply, but his redheaded girlfriend put a hand on his shoulder and he relaxed. Bellatrix was glad that she was at least good for something.

"Talk and go," Sirius said, not looking at her. "I have better things to do than to listen to you today..."

"Come to my wedding."

"Sorry, but if I wanted to waste a day with the people I hate most while everyone is looking for the bride, who had run off with the best man, I would've come to your first wedding."

"Really, Sirius, I was young then. The second wedding was a charm – " 

"Yeah, before you humiliated the groom in front of all his friends and family, and then declared you wouldn't marry him because he's fat."

"I see news travel fast," Bella said contentedly. The group began to disperse, and she led her cousin away from his classmates. He let her lead him reluctantly. "But it will be different this time. Rodolphus is handsome and wealthy, and doesn't let anyone tell him what to do. When we first met he wanted to marry right away, even that his mother disapproved. He's the head of his family, you know? He has all the power... So will you come?"

"I'd rather spend the day throwing up slugs. And I pity the man who's stupid enough to marry you."

Sirius's friends were huddling away from them, giving them cautious looks – the kind that a herd of sheep would give a hungry wolf. Bella smiled sweetly at them, able to contain her bubbling anger only for a moment, before she leaned over to Sirius, sinking her nails hard into the front of his robe as she whispered in his ear.

"You allow yourself a lot of liberty, Sirius," she hissed, the humiliation of his words making her abandon the last bit of sympathy she had for him and give in to the wild, violent fury that ignited in her heart. "This is your last chance to redeem yourself. Come. Otherwise I'll have to crush you like the miserable little bug that you are..."

She saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed. She could smell his attractive masculine scent mixed with a distant, intoxicating smell of fear. He was good at keeping his composure, but not good enough. They grew up together, after all – he knew what she was capable of when the burning white anger took over.

She let go of his robe. Yes, they could have been so good together, if he was only a little wiser. There were times she used to think their fates were bound forever, but now she knew she was meant for greatness, and he wasn't. He was just a toy.

"Think about it, cousin," she said before she kissed him on the cheek and walked away.

In three days the sun will shine on her wedding day, and then she will become Mrs. Bellatrix Lestrange, a young woman married to a powerful husband in a new world. The possibilities were endless.


	2. Introduction to Regulus

****

Even as the crowd of students began to disperse, Dumbledore's words lingered in Regulus' mind. He remained sitting before the abandoned stage, lost in thought, until he realized he was the only one left there. He had once again lost touch with the world around him and retreated to the realm of his own thoughts, even though he swore to himself he would stop doing that. But it was hard to stop the Headmasters warning from seeping in and arousing unwanted thoughts.

_"Remember that all people are born equal, and are equal again as they face death."_

No, he mustn't give in to these kind of thoughts. He can't allow himself to dwell on death when life expects so much from him these days.

With that thought in mind, Regulus took his school robe and began to walk toward the refreshment area; He was running late, and he knew his parents must be looking for him.

It seemed to be a verb that defines him – late. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was consistently late in every aspect of his life: His physical development was slow, he was always running late, and he always felt that he was the last to understand what was going on around him. He was even late to be born; If he had only preceded his older brother in their mother's womb, the famous tragedy would have been spared from his family.

Against the picturistic background of the castle and the blue summer sky, proud parents showered love and pride on their now adult children, and excited groups of students exchanged greetings and plans for the future. Regulus squinted like a mole under the blazing sun, the flashes of cameras and the smiles, and made his way through the crowd without attracting attention.

He noticed his family standing apart from the rest of the guests. Lucius Malfoy was having a a discussion with the DADA teacher, while Regulus' cousin, Narcissa, hung on his arm in mild, graceful boredom. His parents stood rigidly besides them, reluctantly honoring the audience with their prideful presence, not interacting with anyone nor with each other.

They didn't notice him, so Regulus took the opportunity to try to examine them from the eye of a stranger. He found himself looking at a pure- blooded couple whose sole purpose for getting married had been fulfilled, and were now living their lives in a bubble of insignificant traditions and prejudices. That point of view made him feel unwanted feelings, so he decided to move away and allow himself another short period of peace before he had to face them.

"Reg! Hey, Reg!"

Regulus recognized the voice. He stopped walking and waited for his brother to catch up with him, as if he were under a spell that wouldn't let him ignore the call.

Sirius tore himself away from a bustling event to talk to his brother, crossing the green grass with long, graceful strides. Regulus looked at him as he approached, thinking that this was where his brother truly belonged – a place full of eternal sunshine and smiling people.

They stood facing each other for a moment, none of them sure how to behave. Finally Regulus held out his hand. Sirius ignored the gesture and embraced him. Regulus stood still, waiting patiently for his brother to let him go. He had always been the physical one of the two; It was most prominently expressed in his warm and enthusiastic personality, which came in complete contrast to the moderate and quiet personality of his brother.

The two brothers both had the characteristics of the House of Black, yet they were different as two snowflakes. Sirius had wild gray eyes, like their mother's, a masculine jaw, a sturdy chest, and broad shoulders. Regulus, on the other hand, had a pair of almond shaped dark eyes, a thin face, pointed chin, small nose, and a narrow body. He was too thin and pale to be as attractive as his brother. He was almost seventeen, but looked about fifteen; When it came to appearances, it seemed that he had been condemned to eternal boyhood.

"I suppose this is goodbye?" Sirius might have been a Gryffindor, but he wasn't naive. Now that he had graduated, they would probably never see each other again.

"We certainly don't occupy that same social circles," Regulus confirmed.

Sirius gave him a crooked look. Regulus knew what he was going to say.

"Reg, you know you don't have to – "

"I chose my path, Sirius, and you chose yours. It's alright. One of us has to be the head of the family one day."

Sirius didn't seem pleased. Regulus knew he wouldn't give up on him without a fight. It was a worthless fight, but it still touched his heart.

"I know we've never been close, but I don't want us to be strangers. You're the only person in this family that I can stand." Sirius smiled. "You and I – we're actually not that different, aren't we? I know you don't really agree with all their Hippogriff shit..."

Regulus knew fate had destined them for different paths, so he said nothing.

"Reg... You're not... Bad. You're not like them."

"Your friends are waiting for you," Regulus said.

Sirius' eyes dimmed, as if they had been covered by gloomy clouds. His pride was hurt by his failed attempt at reconciliation, and he was disappointed. Regulus felt this disappointment like a thorn in his heel – a distant, penetrating pain.

"Whatever."

The word hung in the air even after Sirius turned his back and walked away. Regulus felt that the conversation had been full of unspoken words that should have been said but never would be. He felt a bitter sense of missed opportunity, something he felt on a regular basis in his life. On the other hand, knowing that he had done his brother an immense favor, he felt proud of himself, even if he would never receive gratitude for his service.

 

His parents were invited to tea with the head of the School Board. Regulus sat beside his mother obediently as the sweaty man tried to get them to donate money to school between random conversations about next year's curriculum and the bleak reality in their country.

"Not long ago wizards and witches in the countryside still felt safe to leave their doors open at night," the chairman said, tapping his shiny forehead with a soaked handkerchief between sips. "And today you would find that all the doors are bolted and reinforced by protective charms! People are terrified... Although that horrifying criminal hasn't shown his ugly face for a while, you know, you can't tell who's working for him and who's not... It could be anyone you meet on the street. I wonder –  when did he manage to gather so many supporters without anyone noticing how strong he's become?"

Regulus' parents gave polite, intellectual answers, completely meaningless. Regulus recalled all the notes he had noticed being secretly passed among Slytherins in the bustling corridors, the enthusiastic conversation in the common room about the rightful place of wizards in the world, the quiet sounds of tapping feet in the dorms in the darkness of the night. The faith in the Dark Lord spread among the young students like an epidemic of sweet hallucinations. He didn't know how many years these boys and girls, born into a world where everything had already been decided for them, lay in their beds in the Slytherin dormitories and dreamed of freedom and power. He only knew that if he continued to live among the carriers of this dangerous and seductive viruses, he might soon catch it too.

After tea, Regulus' parents Flooed home and he followed them, glad to skip the tedious train ride to London. He walked lightly out of the green flames and found himself in the drawing room of Number 12 Grimmuld Place – his home.

His mother was already expessing her discontent when he entered. His father took the time as he unbuttoned his cloak and Regulus knew he wasn't listening to her,

"I very much hope for Signus that the match he had found for Bellatrix will be a success. Have you seen how she behaves, Orion? She needs a husband who would put her in her place and end her licentiousness. I still can't believe he dared to cancel her engagement with – "

"That's enough, Walburga," Mr. Black snapped with ire. He left his cloak on the couch for the house elf to handle and exited.

"Where are you going?"

"I have work to do."

After a few moments, Regulus heard the familiar echo of his study door slamming behind him.

Mrs. Black sat down on the couch and summoned her regular footstool to rest her feet. She adjusted her dress and then looked at Regulus, who was still standing in front of the fireplace, waiting for permission to go to his room.

"You have become a handsome young man, Regulus," she said with a soft banality that Regulus recognized as one of her unintelligible ways of showing affection. Regulus almost smiled at the gesture. "Soon we would have to find you a match. Of course, your cousins are out of the question, given the horrendous hypocrisy of their parents... But there is no need to worry. The moment we would declare that the heir to the House of Black is looking for a bride, dozens of young girls of suitable status will compete for the right to marry you. Doesn't that make you happy? Come here – I'm appalled that you allow yourself to be seen so unkempt in public..."

He sat down beside her on the couch and she began to straighten the collar of his shirt and his tie, which were perfectly straight and ironed and didn't require rearrangement.

"In a year's time you will graduate, and then take your place with your father in the management of family fortune. The fortune is only expected to grow in the light of the recent developments..."

Regulus knew that she was talking about the strengthening of the Dark Lord, and his agenda that was passed on by word of mouth among the pure- blood families, providing fertile ground for the delirium of power to spread. Everyone were sure that soon pure- bloods will assume their ancient place as the masters of the world.

"May I go?"

"Not yet. Call Kreacher to take your luggage upstairs, then help me remove this amulet."

Regulus did as she said. The family's ugly house elf appeared immediately at the call of his young master, and received the command with perfect obedience, his huge eyes glistening with tears of excitement as he grabbed the trunk and disappeared. Then Regulus stood behind the couch and opened his mother's giant silver amulet with careful and skillful fingers.

"On Thursday we are invited to Bellatrix's wedding," she chattered as her son continued to stand behind her. Regulus listened patiently, realizing how lonely this woman was. She really did love him, he knew; But like him, she simply didn't know how to translate what she felt into words. This kind of education wasn't given in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

"I ordered Kreacher to pick up a new dress robe for you. I'm sure it will suit you wonderfully. Do try to look nice – I think I will use the opportunity to announce that we're looking for a match. Also, Mr. Lestrange has influential friends in the Ministry and in... Other places. I want you to make a good impression. You can leave now, if you wish."

Regulus bent down and kissed his mother's powdered cheek. Then he left and she remained seated, as if the gesture hadn't taken place at all.

In his room, the house elf had lit the fire for him, and was in the process of arranging his belongings when Regulus came in. Carefully folded clothes moved like railroad cars and placed themselves in the proper drawers of his wardrobe while books whirled around the lamp in search of their place on the shelves. Kreacher navigated a carved wooden chest locked in a golden lock outside the trunk and slid it into it's place beneath the bed.

Regulus sat down on his bed with a pleasnt sense of ease, watching the house elf finish his work hastily but with precision.

"Kreacher is glad young Master is back home!" He declared excitedly, his voice creaky, smiling a ugly and happy smile. "Kreacher is very- very lonely when Master Regulus be at school... Master Regulus wants to eat? Or drink? Kreacher draw a bath – "

"A bath would be wonderful," Regulus said.

"Kreacher to check water! Kreacher to bring towels! Kreacher – " He dissapreared in the middle of the sentence.

Regulus approached the fireplace and warmed his constantly cold hands. In Number 12 Grimmuld Place the chill was a regular guest, and a vague sense of emptiness echoed in the vast rooms, among the old furniture. Yet Regulus was happy to come back home. He didn't know if he would ever be able to give up the sense of security that the place gave him, no matter how alienated it might have been sometimes.

Kreacher way delaying. Regulus assumed that he was making special efforts to make his Master's bathing an extraordinary experience, or that he had to fulfill a urgent order from one of Regulus' parents or from –

For a moment Regulus had forgotten that Sirius was no longer there to load the poor elf with useless tasks just to annoy him and the other residents.

Regulus went to the door and locked it. He knew that if one of his parents wished to enter they would have no difficulty to charm the lock, but at least it would buy him a few moments to conceal his crime. He crouched at the foot of the bed and dragged out the chest. Pointing his wand at the lock, he muttered the secret spell words silently. The lock opened, allowing him to see the secret contents of the chest.

It was full of books.

Seemingly they were no different then the books that now filled the shelves in Regulus' room. But the titles and names printed on them betrayed their true essence; Names such as Shakespeare, Allen Poe, Dickens, Nietzsche, and Dostoevsky were stamped on the elegant spine of leather-wrapped volumes. Regulus ran his hand lovingly over them, their words already engraved in his memory.

A single paperback was tucked in a gap between the neat volumes and the side of the box, standing out from the rest. Regulus took it gently and leafed through it, almost unable to wait until his parents retired to their beds and he could commune calmly with the beautiful wisdom between the pages.

 _Faust_ , the name was printed in plain black letters on the blank cover. Between the pages the lines of the play winked at him, the curve of the letters attracting him more than the sight of any girl.

It had been the first muggle work he had read, the one that pulled him into that magnificent world, unknown to him all his life. It was a play about a wise man who had been tempted by the Devil. It made Regulus understand, for the first time when he was fourteen, that even good men sometimes do bad things. It was comforting to know that no matter what he might have to do for his family, he may redeem himself in death.


	3. Introduction to Severus

The graduation ceremony couldn't have ended quickly enough for Severus Snape. He studied his diploma as he walked along the edge of a cheerful group of his classmates and couldn't ignore the sourness the simple parchment aroused in him.

  
_We hereby declare Severus Tobias Snape,_

 __  
A graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and a citizen of the Ministry of Magic of England,  
  
A qualified Wizard, from this day and for all the days of his life.

  
At the bottom were the stylized signatures of Professor Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic.

That was it. For that miserable piece of parchment he had strived all these years, to go to Hogwarts, to be the best... Now, as all the students were walking together to the refreshment area, where they will all be together for the last time (thank Merlin), he didn't feel any sense of triumph or success.

He passed all his N.W.E.T.s with honors, after hours of diligence. He received a certificate which proves, without a doubt, that he is a wizard who is exercising his natural right. Yet he still walks alone on the sidelines, surrounded by strange laughter. He's still the grim-faced Snivellus Snape, only that now he's holding a stained parchment.

He left the other students behind, climbing the stairs to the castle. He was sweating in the blazing sun, the old, ugly robe he had acquired in a second-hand shop in Hogsmeade for the occasion weighing down on him and making him scratchy. He went straight to the dungeons, taking long, quick steps. He could scarcely remember saying the password and entering the common room, he only knew that he was alone in the seventh-year dormitory, and that the flames licking the parchment by his command were emitting thick black smoke.

He left the half-burnt parchment on the floor and took off the dress robe with violent, agitated gestures. He should have known not to look forward to that bloody day. Why did he think it would be different from any other day in his miserable life?

He put on his ragged daily clothes, took his trunk, and left the dormitory angrily, not bothering to give half a thought to the fact that it would be the last time he saw that room.

He appeared again in the hated summer sun. The gathering of students and parents was still at its peak. He was determined to get around it and be alone with his gloomy thoughts, so he walked firmly down the slope, his trunk trampling the grass as it hurried after him like a puppy.

"Snape!"

Severus turned toward the voice with a raised wand, ready to remove any unnecessary parasite from its tracks. Landon Avery walked toward him in catlike steps, still wearing his dress robe and hat, his Trained Wizard certificate rolled up in his hand. Severus concealed his wand with a quick, almost imperceptible movement.

"Where's the fire, Snape?" He asked, studying Severus with his blue narrow eyes. "The celebration here isn't over yet. Professor Slughorn is looking for you, you know?"

"I have to go," Severus said. "My mother is ill, and my father... Went out this morning. I have to go home to take care of her."

"Of course," said Avery with a grin, and Severus knew he didn't believe him. "I suppose Miss Prince will be too weak to attend the Annual Pure- Blood Ball this year as well?"

Severus didn't know exactly what had happened at the last Pure-Blood Ball that his mother went to, he only knew that the slightest mention of the event could have brought her to the brink of a nervous breakdown. And he knew something else – that Avery was mocking him shamelessly.

"Goodbye, Avery."

"One minute, Snape," said Avery, taking Severus by the arm with a quick movement. Severus looked at his hand, then looked at his face with a frown. "I have a suggestion that you might be interested to consider."

"Talk," Severus said impatiently.

"My father is looking for employees – you know, he's the head of the Department for International Magical Trade Standards, and he gave me a free hand to recommend everyone I see fit. And you, Snape – well, everyone knows you have the highest grades in Slytherin."

"I don't see how my knowledge of magic can help me write official letters," Severus said dismissively, pulling his arm out of Avery's grip.

He already had very clear plans for his future career; Research on ancient magic was a top priority, along with the Department of Mysteries. In the worst case, he would compromise on a career related to Astronomy or Potions, but he knew he would never stop pursuing the ancient and mysterious magic that really fascinated him. A clerical role in the Department for International Magical Trade Standards wasn't included anywhere on his list.

"If that's how you feel," said Avery with a shrug. "I know a dozen other wizards who would kill for this job... But here – in case you change your mind." He put a piece of parchment in Severus' hand. "Think about it. I'd like you to find a good job, one that matches your skills... After all, we're friends, eh?"

Severus looked for the lie in Avery's eyes as he shook his hand. They were full of different and unclear messages, and Severus wasn't sure whether he had found the spark of a lie, or  had just imagined it out of an inability to believe that this person really wanted to help him. Avery and his group of friends were the only students Severus could tolerate through his school years, but they were far from being his friends.

Avery turned his back to him. "Think about it, Snape. And send my regards to Miss Prince."

Severus turned around and walked away without giving the other man a second thought. He crushed the piece of parchment and stuffed it into his pocket absently.

He Appearted to the backyard of his house, only to find himself drowning in waist- level grass. The fierce afternoon sun began to creep westward, casting an orange hue on the grayish- green stalks and the faint yellowish wildflowers that grew among them. The house remained exactly as he had left it on the first of September; A narrow house built from ugly red bricks with a brown tiled roof dotted with greenery and dents.

The back door was open, as always, and the small space of the kitchen and the door to Severus' room were entirely at the mercy of the dubious protection of the torn screen door. The second step that led to it was still broken, and Severus skipped over it.

The shutters in the kitchen were closed. As he entered Severus cast a long shadow on his father's limp body; he was laying on the floor face down, completely still. He passed over him as he had skipped over the broken step, perhaps with less interest, and went into his room.

He ordered the shutter to open with a wave of a wand, and the afternoon light poured into the dusty room. It remained unchanged; The peeling wallpaper on the walls, the lonely narrow window, the empty bookshelf, the unwinded clock on the nightstand, and the narrow bed with the iron plank where all still there. Severus sat down on the spongy mattress and ordered the contents of his trunk to arrange themselves in the room. Most of it was books; They stacked up in a high pile on the shelf and then piled on other surfaces in the room, for lack of additional shelves. Among the books was a brochure that Severus summoned to him.

The brochure presented a range of possible jobs at the Ministry of Magic, including the distinguished Morgana Magical Research Institute, which was funded by the Department of Mysteries. He skimmed over the various admission requirements and was proud to think that his excellent grades were about to open many doors for him.

He wasted no time and began writing requests for job interviews. When he finished, each of the half dozen requests attached itself to a copy of his grades sheet, placed itself in an envelope, and stacked on the table while he but on his only simple robe and prepared to go to Diagon Alley.

When he returned to Spinner's End after visiting the Diagon Alley post office the evening was descending, stretching a blue velvet sheet over the modest houses. From the river came the croaks of sad toads and crickets.

Severus stood for a moment in the darkness, completely still. He thought he could hear a hoarse yet soft voice calling his name among the water plants, rising from the cool water like a fog at dawn. He looked into the darkness, imagining shadowy figures in the wild vegetation...

A melodious laughter rang through the air. Severus felt a sudden yearning for the darkness by the river. Then the laughter was heard again – this time it awakened him from his ponderings and announced itself as real, not part of his dark dream.

On the other side of the street, two houses away, a light shone in the downstairs windows of a house. In the stillness of the sad town street, a female laughter wafted through the open window, brushing the whispering shadows away from the water. Severus' feet began to move towards it uncontrollably, like a moth drawn to a flame.

He wasn't sure what he was thinking to himself as he crossed the empty street. Maybe he thought that now, as adults, they could start over. Perhaps he felt he had to seize that opportunity to see her face, because he might not get another one. He walked around the house carefully, sneaking like a snake through the bushes, and knelt under the back kitchen window, which was open to the fresh night air. The laughter was rolling again, but this time Severus could hear a second, deeper laughter that accompanied the heavenly sound. It was so close he could almost touch it...

The back door opened. Severus straightened up, feeling caught, and found himself looking into Lily Evans' glowing face. The laughter died on her lips as soon as she spotted him on the doorstep.

"Severus," she started in surprise, straightening the strap of her purse on her shoulder. "We where just leaving... What are you doing here?"

James Potter appeared behind her, putting his hand on the door frame in a protective gesture. Severus ignored his presence, a habit he had adopted during their time in school, and spoke to Lily.

"I wanted to say goodbye," he said frankly, and then, to balance his honesty, lied – "I'm leaving Spinner's End soon."

Lily glanced at Potter. He made an attempt to hide his frown behind a look of disinterest and shrugged.

"Come in," she said to Severus.

"There's really no need," he said stiffly. He didn't feel comfortable speaking freely in Potter's presence, even if he wouldn't have another chance to say what he wanted to. "I don't want to keep you. I just wanted to say goodbye. You were... A good neighbor."

"I... You, too." Lily gave him a sad look; Severus wanted to believe that there was a little regret behind it.

Ever since they'd stopped being friends, Severus had spent a lot of time trying to convince himself that she was no longer the Lily he had known. His memory took him seven years back to that same back door. They are standing in the same places; He's a clumsy, thin boy wearing his father's old oversized clothes, she's a girl with scuffed knees in a grass-stained dress, with wild red hair, like a flame. Today, it seemed he hadn't changed at all; Still tall and thin, still with the same pale ugly face and overgrown black hair. But she – she had changed like night and day. Her red hair was neatly combed and styled, her lovely freckles were covered with light makeup, and she wore a feminine dress and high heels. And, of course, it was impossible to forget the main and inseparable addition to her new life – James Potter – whom Severus blamed for the sharp change in the wild joyful girl he had known, and for the fact that she was no longer part of his life.

"I heard about your mother," she said suddenly, looking uncomfortable. "I was very sorry to hear she had... About what had happened."

"It's all right," Severus said. He tried to catch her eyes, but she lowered them. He knew she felt disturbed at the thought of Elieen Snape drowning herself in the river. The river –  where she and Severus used to play as children, when they were young and carefree, and had not yet heard about the cursed James Potter.

"So... I guess I'll see you around."

"Yes. See you."

Severus felt she wanted to say something more, but kept silent. Potter's presence seemed to weigh on both of them at that moment.

He moved to let the couple pass. He was surprised when Potter reached out his hand as he walked pass him. Severus shook it reluctantly.

"Good luck, Snape."

He joined Lily on the grass. She took his hand and they Appearted, leaving Severus alone on the doorstep. He could still smell her perfume – the girl who had been his only friend, and the only person he had ever loved.


	4. The Little King

Bellatrix's wedding took place in her future home. The Lestrange Estate was a huge anti-muggle bubble in the very center of London. Regulus took advantage of the short period of freedom he had before the ceremony to take a walk around the building and look at the stylish Gothic ornaments, which were actually created under muggle influence. Then he strayed towards the blooming gardens so he could look at the whole house against the summer sky and marvel at the architecture.

He tried to imagine how his life would have been like if instead of moving into that magnificent house, Bellatrix would have married Sirius and moved into Number 12 Grimmuld place. He concluded that if Sirius would have acted like the son his parents expected him to be, Regulus would have been the disappointment in the family, for obvious reasons, and thus completely at his cousin's mercy. He was glad Sirius managed to get away from her cruelty, and at the same time pitied Bellatrix's future husband.

He politely greeted two old ladies who were sitting in the sun in the garden. They answered him with familiar mannerisms as they examined him from head to toe. He faked a smile and walked away from them quickly. For a moment he was tempted to throw away the blue rose his mother had attached to his lapel to one of the flower bushes, but at the last moment stopped himself and left the rare flower untouched.

The rose was one of the exclusive wedding practices of pure blood wizards – It was a sign that the man wearing it was a bachelor looking for a match. As nice as the flower was, it made Regulus feel like an animal in heat or a piece of meat put out for sale.

He circled the building once more and then entered the cool entrance hall. A huge arched ceiling towered above the wedding guests, who chatted among themselves as they waited for the ceremony to begin.

"Where have you been?" His mother demanded, appearing out of nowhere and beginning to arrange his appearance. She herself was as elegant as a peacock, as expected from a close relative of the bride. "The ceremony will begin any moment..."

Suddenly the crowd went quiet. Regulus turned to see what everyone were looking at and was pulled aside by his mother.

The crowd made way for the bride and groom, who made their way gracefully to the ball room where the ceremony was to take place. Rodolphus Lestrange wore a silver and indigo dress robe and on top of it a heavy, ancient looking cloak, woven completely from golden thread. On its back was an embroidery of a black tree, the Lestrange's coat of arms. He smiled at the crowd with ease, leading his young, stunning bride through her new home. Everything considered, to Regulus he seemed like a decent fellow.

Bellatrix held her future husband's arm lightly, not less pleased than he was at the glances of admiration directed at them. She was wearing a traditional blood- red dress, no doubt the same dress her mother had worn on her wedding day; But although the dress was old-fashioned, Bellatrix wore it with perfect grace. Her hair was braided around her head like a black crown, and inside the black nest rested an antique silver diadem, adorned with diamonds and rubies. A silver brooch was attached to her chest, showing the Blacks' hound and star. She sent Regulus a smile as she passed him, and he looked away. He hadn't dared to look into her eyes for so long that he had forgotten their color.

After the bride and groom marched the grooms elderly mother, walking painfully slowly on her fragile legs while leaning on her young son's arm. Rabastan Lestrange, who was a year younger then Regulus and was also on Slythrien's Quidditch team, winked at him as he passed by him.

After the groom's family marched the bride's parents, followed by the bride's younger sister, Narcissa, who was leaning on the arm of her cold-eyed fiancée. After them, Lestrange's uncles and cousins took their place, joining the column that marched into the hall in perfect ceremonial order. Only after the distant cousins took his place, Regulus' mother grabbed his father's arm firmly and motioned him to lead her into the column. Regulus came right after them.

They took their seats in the second row of benches. The ballroom of the Lestrange Manor was a magnificent, high-ceilinged structure made of white and pale oval stone with silvery veins. Huge windows made of green, yellow and pink glass depicted romantic episodes from ancient fairy tales and poured a bright and colorful light into the hall.

After they were cut off from their family, the bride and groom went to the platform in the front of the hall, under an ancient marble statue of a wizard who's name had been long forgotten. One of Lestrange's old uncles, who was led to the stage with the help of two young men, was chosen to conduct the ceremony.

Regulus felt he was being watched. He turned his head to see a golden-curled girl, probably one of Lestrange's cousins, who had been seated beside him. Regulus noticed that a blue rose was attached to the sleeve of her blue dress. He looked down and didn't look up until the ceremony began.

The blessings were said, the fathers were mentioned, the promises were exchanged and the blood was offered. Finally the two signed their alliance with a brief kiss and led the guests out, in the same order as they had entered.

"It was supposed to be Sirius..." Regulus' mother mumbled on the way out.

"Leave it, Walburga," grumbled her husband. "I don't want to hear his name anymore, is that clear?"

The wedding banquet was held in the garden. Regulus hoped to slip into the quiet bush maze without attracting anyone's attention, but Narcissa caught up with him in the terrace.

"It was a lovely ceremony, don't you think?" She said, a little faster than necessary.

"It was nice," Regulus said. "Soon we'll see you there, too."

"Yes, soon..."

"Where's your fiancé?" Surprisingly, Malfoy was nowhere near his future wife. It was unusual, considering that he had barley left her side since the engagement had been announced.

"He went to meet some old friends. They say that the Dark Lord himself is gracing us with his presence, did you know?"

Regulus didn't notice anyone unusual. He expected the Dark Lord to be a stirking figure that would immediately draw his gaze.

"Is he one of Lucius' old friends?"

Narcissa looked like a doe who heard the hunter's footsteps. "It's not funny, Regulus."

"You know I don't make jokes. It's a great honor to be in the Dark Lord's Circle. So I've heard, at least."

Narcissa touched her elegant hair style with a pale, thin hand. "They say that Rodolphus' father was one of the Lord's first supporters – even his friend, one might say. And everyone knows that Rodolphus supports the Lord publicly..." She seemed to be gathering her courage, then suddenly said, "You know, we thought that Lestrange was going to be just like all the others, that Bella would have her fun with him and then throw him away when she got bored... But you had to see the expression on her face when he told her he knows the Dark Lord personally...  She was so excited, like she thought their marriage was going to be an adventure..."

"There's no harm in it if it prevents her from getting bored with her marriage, isn't it?"

"You're probably right," Narcissa lied without talent. She gave Regulus a gentle smile, obviously not wishing to talk about her sister anymore. "And what about you? Will we get another wedding invitation soon?"

Regulus smiled back. Narcissa was always his favorite cousin. It was a mystery to him, how each of the Black sisters had been born so different from the other two. Andromeda – intelligent and fierce, Bellatrix – powerful and tameless, and Narcissa – so meek and gentle, as if a gust of wind could blow her away. She and Regulus had always been natural allys.

"This flower will wilt long before a pure-blooded girl would glance at me."

"Don't be like that, Reg, we both know that's not true," said Narcissa, stroking his face with the back of her hand.

"Narcissa!" Malfoy called from afar.

Narcissa pulled her hand away as if she had been burned.

"I have to go," she said apologetically, moving away. "Enjoy the feast."

"You too," he called after her weakly, but she was already gone.

He moved toward the huge golden tent were the feast was held. Groups of guests fell silent as he passed them, and he nodded at them politely as they looked at him. Here and there people stroked up a conversation with him, questioning him about school and pretending to be interested in his answers. Regulus didn't blame them for their behavior – he knew it was unpleasant to meet him. It was his cousin's wedding, after all, and the gossip about her and her disowned sister and cousin was too juicy to resist.

Those days the Blacks were the most controversial family among the pure- bloods. Between the promiscuous Bellatrix and her lunatic sister Andromeda, who had married a mudblood, and Sirius, who had thrown away his place as the head of the family in favor of a life of debauchery with mudbloods and muggle lovers, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black wasn't so noble anymore.

And these were only the troubles that the children made. The gossipers never forgot to mention Alfred the madman who had decided to leave the world in an unforgettable way by leaving all his gold to his most ruthless nephew. There was also the darker gossip about Orion Black's growing paranoia since he had decided to take his wife and two small children out of their old castle and reside them among muggles, where he would add more and more protection spells every year, and about the gentle sanity of his wife, from whom their eldest son had learned all his perverse ways.

At the liquor stand he met Rabastan, who started talking with him about the Slug Club and Quidditch. He was a lean boy with tanned skin and black curls, who to Regulus' opinion talked a bit too much. He spoke to him politely, waiting for any excuse whatsoever to end the boring conversation.

The distraction came at some point, but not exactly in the way he had expected it. A flash of light dazzled him, and then more lights flickered. Behind the fence, a few paces from where they were standing, was a group of small muggles with narrow eyes who were wearing silly hats, pointing to the wedding guests and taking pictures of them while chatting in a foreign language. Among them stood a white English woman who was staring at the building in confusion.

"Bugger," Rabastan hissed, pulling out his wand. "Why now?..."

"You can't use your wand outside Hogwarts, I think. Especially not in front of muggles," Regulus reminded him.

Rabastan winked at him. "Everyone knows it's just for self-defense." He cursed one of the muggles, who tumbled and hit his friends. The group clustered around him anxiously, and then many of them began to back away.

"It's happens a lot lately," said Rabastan as he hung an old hysterical woman in the air from her ankle. "Since Father passed away no one is maintaining these defenses anymore. I think Rodolphus just enjoys torturing the muggles if they dare show their ugly faces here... Not that I'm complaining, of course."

The old woman's family gathered around her in panic, trying to figure out what was happening to her and how to bring her down.

"Remind me to tell him to ask your father about good muggle repelling spells."

"Yes," Regulus said, deciding that he didn't want to talk to him anymore. "Alright. See you later."

He went into the house, leaving the other guests to remove the muggles any way they wanted. Not wanting to be reprimanded for wandering around the family home, he found a nearby bathroom and slipped inside.

Round stained glass windows shone on waves of perfumed air and the silvery shapes in the oval marble that tiled the entire room. Regulus went over to the golden sink and washed his face, then reached for a stack of neatly stacked towels and dried his skin gently. When he finished he looked at himself in the mirror and startled.

"I apologize," he said, still frightened by the sudden observation. "I wasn't aware there was someone else here..."

"No need," said the stranger who Regulus had seen through the mirror, sitting in a chair by the door. He closed the book he was reading and put it in the inside pocket of his robe as he got to his feet. He looked at Regulus through the mirror. "I should have locked the door."

Regulus turned around. "I'm sorry to interrupt you. I'll leave now – "

"Stay, if you're already here," the stranger said with the ease of a man accustomed to giving orders. Regulus found himself obeying.

The stranger approached the mirror, which was large enough to accommodate both of them, and arranged the stiff collar of his robe. "Something tells me you didn't come in here just to wash your face."

Legilimency. Of course – how didn't he notice it before? The stranger was roaming his mind freely, like fingers flickering through the pages of a book. Regulus slammed the book of his mind without warning, pinching the fingers rudely. He himself was quite good at Legilimency – he had to be, in order to keep his dangerous secrets.

"You can't possibly have all your conversations like this," he said coolly. "Don't you get bored when you know the answer before you finished asking the question?"

The stranger's mouth tightened. The gesture over the handsome face was more like a grimace than a smile, but its purpose was clear.

"I do get bored of people quickly," he admitted. "That's why I'm in here."

He looked at the mirror, and Regulus did the same. The two reflections were remarkably similar; Both thin, pale, dark-haired and dressed in black, with deep dark eyes. Regulus felt that there was greater similarity between him and that man than between him and his family. It was a bit like looking at an older version of himself. Perhaps this is how he would look in thirty years, with a silver strip in his hair and a crease on his forehead, after he would rise to his full height, his eyes will see more sadness and wisdom, and he will lose the blue rose of virginity.

"I thought I was the only one seeking refuge in strangers' bathrooms," the wizard said. "Seems I was wrong. What brings you here, boy?"

"I'm also easily bored with human company. But for a different reason."

"Pride?" The man asked.

"Maybe."

"Pride..." The man looked at the mirror with satisfaction as he straightened a snake-shaped silver pin that closed the collar of his robe. He smiled his queer smile again. "My favorite sin."

Regulus couldn't find an answer to that odd statement.

"Who are your parents, boy?"

"Walburga and Orion Black."

"Ah, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black... Do you know what they say about the Blacks?"

"The Blacks are the closest descendants of Slytherin's lineage that are alive today."

"That's not what I meant," the stranger said. "And it's not accurate. The Gaunts are the most closely associated with the lineage of Salazar Slytherin."

"Maybe that was true once, but I'm talking about the closest lineage that exists today. The last of the Gaunts died without an heir a few decades ago."

The stranger laughed. It was a mocking laugh, unpleasant to hear; Its ungracfulness was jarring in compered to the rest of his appearance.

"So you did your homework in the history of pure blood families. Very impressive. But the mistake you make is very preliminary and significant."

"Let's hear it," said Regulus, loosing himself in the historical discussion with the nameless stranger.

"Have you ever heard the saying, 'history was written by the victors?'"

"Jean-Paul Sartre," Regulus said. "A French philosopher. Muggle."

"And who will know about it better than a Muggle? Writing history to suit their needs is their greatest specialty. And books – especially history books – lie."

Regulus felt his contempt as if it were aimed at him personally.

"Books teach us everything," he said. "Without books and their wisdom we wouldn't even be superior to animals."

"I think you exaggerate in the value of these fine pieces of paper. They do not separate the man from the beast. The most noble and pure man might have never seen the shape on a letter, while the most learned person could be the most terrible monster to walk this earth... Take the muggles as an example – their knowledge and culture doesn't prevent them from behaving like animals and spreading their repulsive morality among other societies like an epidemic."

"So you are in favor of wizards superiority and book burning. An intriguing combination."

The stranger laughed – that sardonic, unsettling laugh. He leaned on the counter gracefully as he finished his argument.

"Oh, the historical irony... No, I actually recommend reading books. I am certainly an eager reader myself. But I reckon a man must read in order to question reality, not just to extract knowledge. Nothing can be taken for granted. You see what I mean, boy?"

Regulus refused to agree with him, perhaps because he blatantly contradicted everything he had been thought and believed.

The stranger glanced at his watch. "I'm afraid I must leave now," he said, looking into Regulus' face with sincerity and closeness, almost softly. It was a strange and pleasant expression to find on a complete stranger's face. "I enjoyed the discussion very much, and I'm sorry we can't finish it now. I would like for us to continue it sometime... We have not yet reached the discussion's original subject."

"The original subject?"

"What is the saying about the Blacks, if you recall. What is your name?"

"Regulus."

"Ah, yes, the Little King. A handsome name, worthy of the respectable House of Black... Goodbye, Regulus. We shall see each other again."

He left without looking back, leaving Regulus with questions upon questions.


	5. A Black Wedding

The bride's traditional red dress at the wizards' wedding was a symbol of her love for her husband and her future children, of being the fire that nourishes the family, and of the blood and pain that motherhood and marriage would demand from her.

Bella didn't know much about all that, but she certainly liked the dress. It was majestic, with black diamonds adorning its low cut collar, and the hem that spilled on the floor like a pool of blood. She liked the goblin- made diadem that used to belong to her mother, and the way it made her black eyes seem bright and full of life. But the wedding gift she loved most was an ancient wand, a long dark artifact adorned with gloden viens that had passed down her family for generations. It was supposed to go to the first born son, but as her parents had only girls, and Andromenda had run away, the right to it was Bella's now. It made her feel important and powerful.

She picked up the hem of her dress as Rodolphus led her down the marble stairs. Her wedding guests stood at their feet, waiting for the bride's awaited appearance.

"You look marvelous," her future husband said to her, his voice full of promise.

"I know," she replied.

He was a tall man, well built, with olive colored skin, dark brown hair and a matching, groomed beard. His eyes where a catlike yellow- green, and there was an exhilarating passion in them, as if their owner saw the world as a joke that only he could understand. Bella found it extremely appealing – Rodolphus Lestrange was a man who never let life get boring.

The wedding guests gave way as they passed through the hall. Bella could easily get used to being the mistress of that house, a role she would have exclusively once her mother in law, now the cause of the slowness of their steps, would generously liberate them from her existence. Bella heard the old hag muttering malicious complaints and vicious gossip in her younger son's ear as she limped with irritating slowness after the bride and groom, and hoped that the day wasn't far away.

Familiar faces flickered in her direction among the sea of guests around her. She didn't like most of them, but gave everyone the same smile – a smile of satisfaction that couldn't be repressed by her new and exciting status. Between the faces she saw her aunt Walburga, who looked as though she was wearing a black turtle's armor on her head, watching the wedding march with a sour look. Close to her heels, as always, crawled Regulus.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Regulus quickly looked down as if burned by a flame.  
Bella choked a smirk at his frightened reaction. Honestly, she had to say that her aunt and uncle had done a particularly poor job of raising their children; One was attractive but rebellious, the other obedient and wretched. But she had always had a soft spot for the younger Black; In her most clear childhood memories, which were very few, she had been tormenting little Regulus or trying to instigate his brother against him.

The ballroom doors opened for them. The guests dispersed as Bella and her future husband walked to the front of the hall. Bella wondered whether she should feel any excitement, and concluded that the exciting part of the day would only begin if she could survive the boring ceremony.

"We have gathered here today," the old wizard began in a squeaky voice. "In order to witness the formation of the magical bond between Rodolphus of the House of Lestrange and Bellatrix of the House of Black. We bless this union in the name of the descendants that will be born after this day, and the names of our forefathers. We shall be proud to witness the cultivation of a new generation of pure wizards and witches..."

Bella's thoughts wandered. She didn't know what was more boring, the content of the speech or the way the old man stretched and tugged at the words as if an important part of the ceremony was the precise pronouncement of each syllable.

Finally, at the end of the tedious historical speech, came the slightly more interesting part. Rodolphus turned to her and promised to be a devoted husband, to take care of her needs and the needs of their children and to protect her and them from any harm. Bella recited her side of the bargain; To be a faithful wife, to fulfill her obligations to the house and the family, and to bring into the world strong and obedient children. She did so only out of duty, of course, because she saw no point in reciting words that no one obeyed anyway.

Then the old man approached the golden cauldron on the podium that stood in front of Bella and Rodolphus. One of the boys who helped him in the ceremony came with a tray leaden with various potion ingredients. The old man declared each of the ingredients before ceremoniously tossing it into the cauldron, where they swirled while another boy stirred the potion.

Bella watched the fluid, which was a murky gray, like storm clouds swirling over the horizon. There was no smell, but it spread a sort of glow... No, a glow wasn't the right word to describe the aura surrounding the cauldron. It was the opposite of light – not darkness, but a liquid shadow that made the hall seem dim instead of bathed in light. An ominous black cloud covered Bella's heart.

"And now, the final ingredient," the old man announced loudly in a voice that sounded like it was about to break, like the tension in the air before a storm. "The Blood of Promise."

Rodolphus reached his hand over the cauldron. Bella put her hand on top of his. Suddenly she was amazed by the stability and strength of the wide hand under her fingers, and by the grace with which her long white fingers came in contrast to the rough skin of the man beside which she would stand for the rest of her life.

A silver knife cut both of them with one slice. Two different types of blood bubbled out of the long, common incision. The pain was nothing more than a distant tickle in the back of her head; She was so engrossed in the mesmerizing harmony of the strange and beautiful scene before her that everything else was pushed aside.

A drop of blood dripped into the cauldron, and the stormy clouds changed their color to deep sunset red. The liquid was poured into a golden goblet. Rodolphus took a long gulp from the potion, then put the goblet to Bella's lips.

The potion was hot and bitter, bringing tears to her eyes. She swallowed it reluctantly, feeling it trickle into her stomach and filling her nose with fumes. When she finished she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

A light sensation flooded her, as if she was under the influence of a drug, and the place and situation in which she was were insignificant in her empty, happy consciousness. Then darkness took over in a flash, and went away as suddenly as it had come. It may have lasted less than a second in reality, but in Bella's mind it had been hours; She had been enveloped in a peculiarly dark dream, which slipped deep into the shadows of her consciousness as soon as she returned to reality.

Rodolphus cupped the back of her neck and kissed her. The kiss was light, insignificant as the beating of a bee's wings in Bella's confused consciousness. Before she realized what was happening, she found herself being led by Rodolphus outside the hall. She tried to hold on to the edge of her dream, but it slipped out of her fingers like frozen water, leaving her feeling distraught.

Before the wedding, Bella had heard all sorts of nonsense about the magical purpose of the potion – that it created a magical bond between the newlyweds, that it was poison that would take effect if they were to be unfaithful, and even that it gave the one who drank in a glimpse into the future. In her opinion it was nothing more than a collection of disgusting substances meant to make it clear to the bride and groom that their marriage was going to be bitter and repulsive. But now she wasn't so sure anymore. She couldn't shake the proximity of a dark, powerful presence that accompanied her in her vision, that slipped away as she tried to hold on to it and kept lurking in the shadows of her mind. Outside, the summer sun shone brightly and the wedding banquet began immediately. Soon she forgot all about the disturbing vision, the celebration chasing it away.

She was sited next to Rodolphus at the head of the table, under a golden tent that was erected at the center of the garden. She feasted on fat black grapes, savoring the way the thin skin of the fruit ripped in her mouth and filled it with its sweet purple flesh, as she listened halfheartedly to the guests who had come to congratulate her and her husband. It was a funny name, husband. Bella rolled the word in her mind while the man's arm was wrapped around her waist, until it lost its purpose and became a heap of meaningless syllables.

To her left sat her parents, listening to the congratulations with the constant coolness they always displayed in public. To Rodolphus' right sat his mother, filling her plate with appetizers, nibbling on selected crumbs, and leaving the rest wasted.

"Now the Rosiers' will approach," she croaked in her son's ear. "Don't say anything to them. Remember they refused to engage their daughter to Rabastan..."

"I thought you disliked them because of the rude compliment Mr. Rosier had given you at the last annual ball," Rodolphus replied casually. Bella didn't miss the hidden mocking in his voice. She gave a snort of laughter. The mean old woman glared at her.

"The greatest virtue of a good wife is reticence," she said to her son, as if Bella were an unruly puppy in need of taming.

"So you probably weren't a very good wife for your late husband?" Bella mocked.

The old woman pursed her pale lips. The Rosiers approached the table after placing their gift in the right place. Mr. Rosier cleared his throat and was about to start a speech that was expected to be very tedious, but old Mrs. Lestrange had her own plans to give someone an earful.

"Ungrateful bitch," she said to Bella venomously, ignoring the presence of the guests. Everyone around fell silent and listened. "Don't you see what charity our family has done for you? A lesser family wouldn't have taken in a prostitute such as you, even for descendants with Black blood in their veins!"

"Mother – " Rodalphus warned in a low voice.

"Quiet, Rodolphus. Watch and learn. Someone has to teach you how to train this bitch."

Rodolphus fell silent as she commanded, sulking like a beaten, bad-tempered dog. Bella's parents didn't try to stand up for her, but she expected nothing more than an embarrassed silence from them. On the far side of the table, Narcissa lowered her flushed face while her fiance watched his future sister-in-law's humiliation with pleasure.

"You will learn, dear, not to mention my late husband's name with anything but respect. Moreover, you will learn not to mock **me**. Do not forget I am still the lady of this house."

"Not for long," Bella grumbled.

"Excuse me?" Demanded Mrs. Lestrange, straightening up like a cobra preparing to bite.

"I said – " Bella removed Rodolphus' loose grip over her waist and stood up, pulling her new- ancient wand and pointing it at her old mother in law. Hot sparks flew from its tip. "Not for long!"

The guests panicked. Several members of Rodolphus' family prepared to take cover under the table. Bella would have cursed the old woman – by Merlin, she would have done it – had it not been for the cool, authoritative voice that spoke then.

"Enough."

A man in a black dress robe approached the table with a sure stride, as if the garden and everything around it belonged to him. The Rosiers, who were standing there watching the spectacle in shock, fell to their knees as if they had been struck. Next to Bella, Rodolphus suddenly jumped to his feet, and even his mother made an effort to rise.

Bella's arm fell to her side as she watched the stranger. The other guests were quick to imitate the groom, rising to their feet in front of the table or kneeling like the Rosiers. Guests who had been seated farther away came closer to kneel in front of that man, attracted to him like moths to a flame. He treated them as if they were nothing more than these moths, small creatures whose existence hardly interested him. He scanned the main table and Bella felt his gaze stop on her. Black flames burned her skin, and she realized who was standing in front of her.

He was younger than she thought he would be. She imagined the Dark Lord as a wicked old wizard, a dark reflection of Albus Dumbledore. Instead the man in front of her had barley one sliver strand in his combed black hair. His face was cold and clean shaven like that of a marble statue, and his back was straight, proud and dignified. Bella looked forward to seeing ancient ceremonial runes and magical tattoos decorating his clothes and skin, but his appearance was simple, modest, and perfectly normal.

"Blessings for your wedding day," he said, as if he hadn't stopped the bride from cursing her mother-in-law just a moment ago.

"Thank you, my Lord," replayed Rodolphus, bowing. Then he took Bella's hand firmly, implying her to do the same. She bowed her head, but didn't take her eyes off the Dark Lord.

"I have no words to describe the honor your presence brings us on our wedding day, my Lord," said Rodolphus, barely managing not to stammer. Bella felt a certain disappointment at his slumbering behavior, and on the other hand, awe at the man whose presence alone caused him to lose his legendary composure.

"Arabus Lestrange was a great man, an idol of a pure blood wizard," said the Dark Lord. "The day his son is married in order to continue the lineage of pure wizards, who will be raised in the best example of ancient tradition, must to be a day of joy for every wizard who respects his ancestors. I feel satisfaction, even pride, to see the son of one of my most enthusiastic supporters walk in the way of his father. You bring honor to your family and your people."

"Thank you, my Lord," Rodolphus said and bowed again. Bella imitated him, feeling slightly proud, as if the words of praise were also directed at her. "If I may, I would like offer my brother and myself, the sons of Arabus Lestrange, to your personal service."

The words left a tension in the air. It seemed that everyone was waiting eagerly for the Dark Lord's reply, either from curiosity or jealousy. Lucius Malfoy crossed his arms in dissatisfaction, while Narcissa took advantage of his lack of attention to return to the foul habit of biting her nails when stressed. Rodolphus' mother seemed to hold her breath. Bella hoped she would suffocate. She herself felt like a lonely person in a sculpture garden, looking at the ridiculous decorations around her calmly. Did any of them really have any doubt that the Dark Lord will grant this obsequious request? Powerful people lived for these moments. Their true power was not due to great magic or dangerous knowledge, she knew; It came from their ability to make people around them afraid.

Her wandering gaze met a pair of black eyes. Suddenly she realized that she wasn't alone in the sculpture garden, but was walking beside the Dark Lord himself. She looked into the sealed face, wary yet fascinated, like a person reaching out to stroke the beautiful, sleek scales of a snake. She felt empowered by the realization that he found the matter as amusing as she did, as if they were equals.

The Dark Lord began walking toward the table, his steps easy, catlike. Bella never felt the way she did as she watched him approach, like she was prey and he a predator, and for some unnatural reason she didn't want to run away from him. He stopped before the bride and groom so that only the table separated them, looking up at them in their place on the platform; It was almost as if they were the masters and he the servant. But the illusion was so delicate and slender that a single word shattered it and reminded them that the person standing before them didn't need a throne or a stage to be superior to them.

"I shall accept your service," he said. "In your father's memory, and for your devotion to me."

He looked at Rodolphus, then at Bella. She felt him examine her, measure her. She shivered in the warm air. For a moment she felt that he was looking at her the way Rodolphus looked at her – a look that was all passion. The feeling frightened and excited her at the same time, and all she wanted was more of it.

Then he turned on his heel and Appearted. The guests stayed where they were, confused by the sudden departure. The Dark Lord disappeared from the sunny day like a thick shadow escaping the sun, slipping away from the knowledge of those around him.

Their wedding day had become a double celebration. The Dark Lord's agreement to accept the brothers in his service gave their mother more joy than the marriage of her eldest son, and Rodolphus was uncharacteristically cheerful from that moment on. Bella continued to enjoy the festive day, which was golden and presented to her on a silver platter, but a solitary black cloud wafted constantly in her mind.

Even after the celebration was over and the sun set on the wedding night, she couldn't shake off the disquieting pleasure of her fear-filled excitement earlier that day. She had been looking forward consummating her marriage with Rodolphus – even as a girl, years before the engagement or before they even spoke, she found him an extremely attractive man – but after the luxurious clothes had been discarded and they were kissing passionately over the covers of their bed, all she could think about was the Dark Lord.

If Rodolphus noticed her mind was elsewhere he hid it well; Maybe he didn't care, or he was too eager to notice anything but his lust. His large hands roamed her body, and his mouth was hot against her skin; She wanted to want it, but the passion only made her feel trapped inside her body, when what she wanted was to be far away from there, with someone else.

It wasn't long before Rodolphus lost interest in kissing and groping. Spreading her legs with a firm grip, he pulled her easily across the mattress, as if she was a rag doll, and slid inside her with one swift motion. Only as the sudden spike of pleasure hit her did she realize how impossibly wet she had been all that time.

However, Rodolphus didn't seem to want to move; Instead he was sucking and licking at her neck, his hands holding her taunt waist, savoring the feeling. She warped her legs tightly around his back and pushed against him eagerly, the feeling of him buried inside her without moving teasing and torturing her.

He chuckled deeply, his warm breath tickling her face. "Eager, are we?"

She bit his shoulder to state that she didn't find that funny at all. The gesture seemed to ignite something in him, because he abandoned all sort of teasing at once and thrust inside her forcefully, making her call out in pain and pleasure.  

For a short time the shadows in her mind where pushed back by the bright glow of passion that took over her as her husband bulit his pace. She could do nothing but arch her back against the mattress and let the pleasure wash over her, as he was pinning her by the wirsts, appearing to enjoy the sight of her stranded underneath him as he fucked her.

As the first wave of release hit her Rodolphus let himself come, thrusting deep inside her with a groan. She rode her orgasm as long as she could, before he pulled out and collapsed by her side, his tan skin gleaming with sweat.

By the time Bella had caught her breath he was already asleep. She looked at him by the dim light of the dying fire. He looked a lot younger in his sleep, his hair rumpled and his lean body relaxed, like a large cat sleeping by the fire. He seemed so vulnerable... Did she look like that too when she slept? She had never considered that. Although she had been with a few men she had never shared a bed with anyone. Maybe that was why marriage was such a big deal – nobody wanted to seen in such a vulnerable state.

After a long time of lying awake in bed, her afterglow long gone, she got up and made her way to the couch in front of the fire place. Her hairdo had come loose, and she let her hair fall on her back as she sprawled naked by the fire, pulling Rodolphus' golden cloak over her middle. It smelled strongly of him, but for some reason it was comforting.

She was no stranger to insomnia – she knew the kind of thoughts that would take over her mind and wouldn't let her sleep, tired as she may be. Now that the excitement was over, a vague sense of familiar melancholy took over her. She knew that darkness well –  it had been there ever since she had been a small child – so she knew she could do nothing but stare at the burning coals and wait for it to be pushed aside by some distraction that would eventually come.

Then, from the void of her thoughts, the image of the Dark Lord rose again. As his black eyes stared at her from the flames, she experienced again the exciting fear that they had installed in her that afternoon, the feeling of exhilarating danger. The darkness was pushed back by a fire that ignited in her mind – a fire of passion, excitement and hope. Then she knew without a doubt – Rodolphus may be her husband now, but there was only one man who could tame the darkness inside of her and bring her light, and that was the Dark Lord.


	6. A Lily Among the Rocks

 

"Name?"

"Severus Tobias Snape."

"Year of birth?"

"1960."

"Education?"

Severus put his graduation certificate, attached to his score sheet, on the table. His interviewer glanced at the papers, her quill continuing to creak on the parchment, scrawling words that Severus wished he could see.

The stern face of the Unspeakable remained expressionless even after a brief look at the documents, and she returned them to him without comment. What could she possibly say about a list of perfect scores?

"Blood status?"

The question puzzled Severus. No one had ever asked him that so bluntly.

"Excuse me?" He said reluctantly.

The Unspeakable remained indifferent. "Blood status?"

Severus' heart shrieked. He overcame the urge to demand the purpose of the question in an interview that was supposed to test only his magical and psychological abilities, and answered, "My mother was Elieen Prince, a pure-blooded witch."

The quill stopped after it had written the name, waiting for the second part of the answer.

"Well, Mr. Snape?" The interviewer demanded when he hesitated.

Severus felt a sharp impulse to lie, to say that his father was a pure blood wizard of the highest degree... But one look at the Unspeakable cold eyes made it clear that every word he said would be checked thoroughly before he would be hired.

"Tobias Snape," he said, the notion of failure already settling inside him. "A muggle."

The quill scribbled and stopped. Severus looked at it heavily until the interviewer picked it up and rolled the parchment.

"That would be enough," she said, vanishing the parchment. "You will receive our answer by owl within the next few weeks."

Severus left the office feeling bitter. He headed for the elevators with a quick stride, wanting to be as far away from the black passages and mysterious blue flames that had attracted and fascinated him so much before. He passed the doors he was so eager to open and the rooms he longed to investigate, the knowledge that he might never be allowed to do so filling him with frustration. Not for the first time in his life, his father failed him on his way to success and dragged him down to his abyss, making him feel like he was born to fail.

He went to the visitor's exit elevator, pressing the button with his fist. The elevator climbed up, leaving him to cook alone in his frustration.

He could have been an excellent wizard – the greatest – if not for the shadow cast on him by his father. The knowledge that the flaw was in his blood filled him with helpless rage, because it was the only thing he couldn't shape at will, even if he possessed the strongest magic.

The elevator door opened onto the pitiful London street. Severus felt that the metallic sky matched his gloomy mood perfectly as he walked between murky puddles and rolling trash, his black overcoat swirling around his feet. He needed some time to think, except that he had no place to go except his house, where he tried to stay as little as possible.

He wallowed in bitterness as he made the journey to the muggle underground train. He watched his muggle travel partners as the metal carriage rattled along. How simple they were, unaware of the depth of their existence and the possibilities of the universe to which they had been born, living their lives between labor and boredom, like ants. They weren't aware of the abilities of the gloomy man who sat among them, didn't know that with a thought alone he could do terrible and wonderful things. He had never felt so disgusted that he shared the same blood as them.

He got off the train at Cokeworth and began the long walk to his house at Spinner's End. The hopes he nourished during the long month he had waited for the interview to the Department of Mysteries crumbled under his feet with each step, turning into fine dust. The realization that vital information such as who were his father and mother was something any employer would want to know mocked him, and he told himself he should have thought of that before he made a fool out of himself. Maybe he deserved to walk so wretchedly along the deserted road, along the sickly fences and bushes; What kind of wizard would allow himself to reach such a miserable situation?

He decided to take the longer path that passed through the graveyard, knowing that at his father's house he would find no solace for his frustration and self-hatred. The graveyard was a narrow area surrounded by high walls, made into a gloomy maze by grey willows. Broken tombstones stood alone on industrial soil that overcame any plant that tried to take root in its unforgiving depths.

Severus followed the concrete paths, and as another part of the labyrinth was reveled to him behind a long-branched willow, he saw a figure cleaning a tombstone. He stopped dead, recognizing Lily Evans' red hair. He watched her, for a moment wondering whether it really was her or maybe a mirage of his frustrated imagination. She didn't notice him as he watched her, absorbed in the cleaning of the tombstone. It was usually like this – he would watch her from a distance, while she was unaware of his presence. Since the start of the rift between them he knew it would be better that way, because things would never be the same again.

He had two options; To go back and go another way, or to leave his hiding place and face her. After all, he couldn't stand there and look at her all day, no matter how much he wanted to. Then, as if she sensed him, she looked over her shoulder and straight at him. A small smile came over her face. Severus felt his legs pull him toward her, as if he were under a spell.

"I didn't think I'd see you here again," she told him as he came to stand beside her. The situation in which she was kneeling on the ground and he standing over her was ridiculous, so he sat next to her beside the grave.

"I came to visit my mother's grave," he lied. As far as she was concerned, he had left the neighborhood the night he stood on her doorway, and she didn't know how many times he had watched her without her knowledge through the window of his room as she passed through the street, always alone. He couldn't bear to think that she would know he didn't have enough gold to leave his father's miserable house and live like a wizard – that he couldn't even find a job to match his skills.

She gave him a soft look. "It's comforting, isn't it, to sit with them like that? You can talk to them, even though they can't hear you, and imagine that they're listening."

Severus nodded in silence, stopping himself from mentioning that not only couldn't she hear her, but Mrs. Evans had long since turned into dirt. Some people found it hard to grasp the passage between life and death, but Severus never had trouble understanding how flesh rotted into dust. It was a natural and necessary process, and even a kind woman like Mrs. Evans had to go through it, just like Eileen Snape.

"So where do you live now?" Lily changed the subject sensitively, apparently interpreting Severus silence as grief.

"I have an apartment in London," he lied, thinking of the ugly buildings opposite the visitors' entrance to the Ministry of Magic. "I'm in training for the Department of Mysteries."

Lily smiled in appreciation. A smile was such a natural gesture for her, but Severus never quite mastered it. "It's very impressive, Severus. I'm glad you found such a good job."

"And what about you?" He changed the subject and turned it to her, so that he wouldn't have to lie to her more than he already had. He wasn't sure why it bothered him. Perhaps he was afraid that if he lied indiscriminately, one of his lies would finally be revealed, and she would see what a failure he was.

Lily's smile widened and then turned into a glowing, shy beckon of joy as she turned her eyes away. They were the greenest thing in the cemetery yard.

"I'm getting married," she said to her mother's tombstone. "To James. In the fall."

"That's... Wonderful." Another lie. He knew Lily didn't believe him for a moment – he wouldn't have believed himself. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," Lily said, looking relieved at his mild reaction. "Would you come? To the wedding, that is."

"It would be rude of me to refuse the invitation." He already knew he wouldn't make it to the wedding with a last-minute excuse. Lily looked a bit downcast at his lack of enthusiasm. Severus hardened his heart; She knew him well enough, she shouldn't have expected more than that from him.

They walked the rest of the way to Spinner's End side by side. It was almost like the old days, when there were two children wandering the dirt roads and orphaned sidewalks, a pretty girl and an ugly boy walking side by side. In such a familiar situation, Severus couldn't ignore a shadow that clearly clouded Lily's heart, and he felt the need to try to remove it, even with the knowledge that he would fail.

"Were will you live?" He asked, breaking the silence uncharacteristically.

"We haven't found a house yet," she replied. "Tomorrow we're going to see some houses in the countryside. We both love it there. And the city isn't a place to raise children..." She paused with a pained look.

"You're thinking about children?"

"Yes, we are," she said enthusiastically, but uncertainly stained her delicate face. "I really want to be a mother..."

"But?"

Lily looked at him appreciatively. "I've forgotten how well you know me. Well, the point is, with all that's been happening... The war..." She pronounced the word as if it stung her tongue. "I wonder if it's the right time to have a child..."

"What does he think?"

"James? You know how he is, won't let anything stand in his way..." She smiled a little smile that lit a spark of jealousy in Severus' heart. "He says we mustn't let the war hold us back, make us put a stop on our lives. Except that... Well, we can't know when it will end, can we?" He suddenly realized that tears were filling her eyes.

"Do you know when he proposed to me?" She said, her voice close to breaking. Severus avoided looking at her, even though she was looking into his face. "On the evening of the day we graduated, he took me to Hogsmeade Park and asked if I would marry him, when across the street three fanatics were terrorizing our classmates and other innocent people at the Three Broomsticks..."

He could hear her fighting the tears. He never knew how to console her.

"I'm sorry," he said stupidly. His words hung in the air, abandoned.

She stopped walking. "Severus," she said. "Are you one of them?"

Severus turned to her. On the one hand, he was surprised that she hadn't demanded to know that before, and on the other hand, he was disappointed by her mistrust. But had he ever given her reason to trust him? He stood behind the words of the people she condemned, she had learned that on her flesh.

They were standing on the dirt road that connected the cemetery and the low houses of Spinner's End, a no-man's-land dotted with bitter bushes under a bright pearly sky where a struggle between sun and rain took place. Severus was certain it had happened before as he face her, in some distant timeline where he had made different choices, better choices.

"No," he said, sincere for the first time since their paths crossed. "I don't believe that goals can be achieved with violence alone. It is nor a way nor a solution."

"That's all I wanted to know," she said softly and smiled at him through the tears.

He went on walking and she joined him, just like in the old days.

He walked her to her house. She climbed the iron plank that was installed on the steps for her father's wheelchair while Severus stayed behind.

"It was nice talking to you," he said politely.

"It was nice for me too," she said kindly. "I'm glad I ran into you."

He nodded and turned to go.

"Wait," she called after him. He turned and found her standing on the edge of the plank. "We don't have to be strangers. We used to be friends."

It had been the most beautiful time of his life. "You forgive me for what happened? For what I am?"

"What you are?" She replied, looking very sad. "Just because your views are different than mine doesn't make you some monster. If I thought so I wouldn't have been better than Voldemort and his followers. I remember what happened, but we shouldn't come to resent each other because of something that had happened in school. I don't want to fight anymore."

"You're right," he said, once again overwhelmed by her wisdom and forgivefullness. "Nothing in the world will make me happier than to be your friend again."

She smiled at his candor. Severus warned himself not to be drawn into the trap, for not every candor would arouse such a wonderful response on her behalf.

"Lily, is that you?" Petunia Evans' shrill voice wafted out of the kitchen window. "Come inside right now! Its going to rain and you left the laundry outside!"

"I have to go," Lily said. "Where should I send the invitation?"

"Your owl will know where to find me," said Severus, who still lived on the other side of the street.

"Alright, so... See you."

"Goodbye, Lily."

He watched her go inside and then headed toward his father's house.

He came in through the back door, which was open, as usual. The kitchen was engulfed in darkness, as usual, with only the table and part of the floor illuminated by narrow spots of light that filtered through the broken shatters. There were a bottle and a cup on the table. Severus didn't remember that they had been there when he left in the morning.

He cried out in pain as something broke on the back of his neck. He staggered forward and almost fell, but managed to cling to the table. Large arms gripped him. He tried to resist, but was knocked to the floor; He banged his head, and the world spun around him. A pair of meaty hands groped for his neck. He tried to push them away, but it was complicated to do so while fighting an immediate urge to be sick. The fingers closed around his throat. A stink of alcohol and sweat reached his nose.

" **Devil!** " his father roared, drops of saliva splashing from his mouth on Severus's face as he choked him. "You came to suck my blood?! To take everything I have?! Well it's too late! Too late! I have nothing left... **Nothing** , I tell you!"

Severus' senses began to subside. His hand groped at his robe as his throat burned for air, and finally managed to find what he was looking for. He cupped the contents of his pocket as he grabbed his wand and pulled it out quickly. The whole kitchen was lit by red light for a fraction of a second. Tobias Snape slammed into the refrigerator, which hit the wall and began humming, before falling to the floor like a pile of rags, unconscious.

Severus examined him from above as he felt his neck. He did wonder when his father would notice that he had come back home, but he hadn't expected such an extreme violent reaction; In the past several years he had been too drunk to actually care about anything, for better or worse. What would he do with him now? He doubted he would be friendlier when he woke up...

It was hard to think clearly with the pain in the back his head, so he decided to erase the scene from his father's memory as a temporary solution, and then went to the bathroom mirror. All around his neck where red and purple marks in the shape of human fingers, and he knew that tomorrow they would turn blue and green. He touched the back of his neck, and when he recoiled with pain because of a glass shred that sunk into his skin, he found his fingers bloody.

By the time he had finished treating his injuries evening had fallen, and gray rain began to fall. He returned to the kitchen and found that his father was still unconscious.

How would he make him leave him alone? Numerous answers came to that question. A variety of spells and curses he knew came to mind, and he pondered them as he made a cup of tea while his father lay at his feet. Imperius was too gross and obvious, except that since the Dark Lord's rise to power the Ministry was on the look for wizards who used Unforgivable Curses. Nevertheless, he knew a less popular curse that would make his father unaware of his existence, and at the same time would make him obey his command as though it were an idea given to him by an inner voice. The curse was called The Satanic Conscience, and when it was invented in the 13th century by a particularly talented dark wizard, it led to a dozen muggles in the nearby village to be burned at the stake by other muggles on the grounds that they had been possessed by demons. The curse was also famous for its use by a French wizard in the 18th century who couldn't stand his wife, and thus led to her hospitalization in a mental hospital.

Severus spent a short time refreshing his memory in his books before bending over his father's body and casting the spell in the darkness of the evening. When he finished he switched on the light and took off his cloak, and this was when he noticed that the contents of his pocket spilled on the floor during the fight. He leaned over to pick up two sickles, a small empty vile that in the morning had contained a daily dose of anti- migraine potion, and a crumpled piece of parchment. He placed the first two on the table and straightened the card:

 

_Mr. Theos Avery_

_The Department of International Magical Trading Standards_

_The Ministry of Magic_


	7. Unworthy

Marriage was a tedious affair, just as Bella had expected. The days at the Lestrange Estate stretched like sticky toffee. While Rodolphus was constantly busy with the family's finances, Bella had to amuse herself in the company of his brother and bothersome mother. She didn't like it most of the time, but soon she discovered that the other possibilities weren't any better; Her mother and sister came for tea once a week, just to bore her with long stories about the preparations for Narcissa's wedding in November. Diagon Alley had lost its charm after a few visits per week, as did Knockturn Ally, after wasting hundreds of Gallons on things she didn't really need.

But there were also moments of pleasure in the dreary routine of her day. Bella's regular morning quarrel with her mother-in-law would usually keep her blood boiling for an hour or two each morning; And, oddly enough, her husband's 16 year old brother turned out to be good company. They had a lot in common, including the tendency to get bored with life on the estate, and a great love for pranking muggles.

"Will you come to our adjuration next week?" Rabastan asked her one day, about a month after the wedding. It was a cloudy day, and the two competed who would be more creative in tripping the muggles who passed behind the fence, unaware of the existence of the Lestrange Mansion. Apart from the prohibition of using a feet-lock curse, the game had no rules.

"Don't be ridiculous, Rabastan. Do you think I won't come to my own adjuration?"

"Since when is it yours?"

"Since I decided it was." She cursed one muggle to beat another until he fell.

"Well done," Rabastan praised her. "But what if the Dark Lord refuses to accept you? You have to prove yourself before he lets you into the Inner Circle – "

"Prove myself? I don't recall you and Rodolphus doing anything other than being born from the right father."

"Hey, I – "

"Sneaking out of the castle with your friends from Slytherin and pulling pranks doesn't count. Everyone did that."

"Whatever." He caused three muggles to fall one on top of the other like dominoes. "Hey, wanna see something nice?"

After a few minutes they were already walking down the muggle street, chatting cheerfully and mocking the muggle fashions and strange inventions. The muggles themselves stared at them as they passed, the robes looking as strange to them as the sneakers and jeans looked strange to the wizard and the witch. They pointed to them and turned the attention of their friends, curious and enthusiastic like a bunch of monkeys. Bella had to use magic only once, when muggle in a large metal box nearly hit her; And if that wasn't bad enough, he then proceeded to make annoying beeping noises and shouted to her to clear the way.

Bella and Rabastan strolled for a while, past shop windows that displayed strange clothes and ridiculous accessories. The only shop window that didn't make them laugh was a store that sold a variety of craftsman's masks. There was one mask that caught Bella's attention in particular; it was made of black silk dotted with silver stars, like the night sky, with a single pearl in the shape of the waning moon. She wanted to go in and take it for herself, but Rabastan pulled her away, claiming they would miss the show.

"Nice" was not the right word to describe that show – "Hilarious" was a better definition. Sitting beside Rabastan on the wall of Buckingham Palace, invisible to the eyes of muggles, she burst out laughing at the muggles in the red suits and huge woolen hats, who called themselves the Royal Guard, as they walked around like ducks and preformed silly ceremonies. The admiration and curiosity of the muggles who gathered around to see the ridiculous ceremony only added to her and Rabastan's mockery.

They returned to the estate in high spirits, but their acceleration didn't last long. Old Mrs. Lestrange was waiting for them at the door, next to a poor looking house elf who looked like she didn't know whether to feel self-pride or guilt.

Rodolphus insisted on taking the task of punishment on himself, as was customary. Bella felt triumph at her mother-in-law's disagreement; Both of them knew that if it were up to Rodolphus, the young Mrs. Lestrange could get away with almost anything.

And so it was. She stood by her husband while he scolded his younger brother, who sat on a chair in the middle of their father's old study. She tried hard not to laugh, and it seemed that her efforts were infecting Rabastan.

"It was a childish, stupid thing to do," Rodolphus said sternly. "And also a serious felony. You're very lucky that no wizard saw you, otherwise you would have been fined, or even sent to Azkaban. And I wouldn't have wasted a sickle to save your skin. Is this amusing to you?"

"No," Rabastan lied, suppressing a grin.

"So wipe that smile off your face. I'm beginning to regret asking the Dark Lord to swear you to his service. In a week you will become a member of the highest and most respected league in Britain, and you still can't act like an adult."

"But that's what Death Eaters do," Rabastan insisted. "They're not afraid of the muggles, they're proud of who they are!"

"No self-respecting Death Eater would have put himself on display like that," said Rodolphus. "The only ones who run riots around muggles are bored boys who aspire to be important, the kind of boys you use to be friends with. The time has come for you to grow up and realize that a Death Eater is a respectable wizard who aspires for power and knowledge rather than foolish amusement. You may go to your room now. I expect you to think seriously about what I said."

Rabastan left and closed the door behind him. Bella could still hear the slight laugh that found its way out of his mouth.

"You've dealt with the matter successfully," said the old Mrs. Lestrange, who was sitting in the chair behind the desk. "Now we shall deal with the second matter, which is your wife."

"Bellatrix and I will discuss the problem privately," said Rodalphus, realizing that if he didn't separate the two, a quarrel would begin immediately. "With your permission, Mother."

Mrs. Lestrange motioned them to leave with dissatisfaction.

"You've acted very irresponsibly, Bella," said Rodolphus as she got ready for bed.

"You can't really blame me," Bella cooed as she put on her favorite silk house robe. "You're busy all day and I'm bored."

"You could help my mother run the household."

"Come on, Rodolphus – I'm bored, I'm not looking for torture. Except that you know she gets a seizure every time she even imagines I'm trying to take her place."

She walked to Rodolphus, who was sipping his whisky in an armchair by the fire, and settled in his lap. He immediately seemed more pacified.

"And speaking of your mother – did you notice she sent a house elf to spy on me?"

"That's ridiculous Bella. Why would she spy on you?"

"I can come up with a dozen answers without even trying."

"You're being paranoid."

"We'll see about that."

She snatched his glass and took a sip, then kissed him deeply on the mouth. His hand went to caress her bare thigh, then slipped upward to undo her robe. As he was busy with the belt she said to him, "Don't be angry with Rabastan. He's just a boy, he deserves to have some fun."

"No. He's almost an adult wizard. He needs to learn to take responsibility for his actions."

He put his mouth to her nipple and the discussion ended. Bella didn't complain – Rodolphus obviously wasn't angry with her.

 

A week later the three of them went to the Malfoy Manor, where the Dark Lord was to host Lucius Malfoy and the Lestrange brothers' adjuration. Narcissa had told Bella that it was the only thing her fiance talked about these days – the Dark Lord this, the Dark Lord that.

As Bella walked into the drawing room on her husband's arm, she imagined she wouldn't have done otherwise. She wasn't sure she would have been able to hold back her excitement if the Dark Lord would have honored her and her husband by staying in their home, even if only for one night.

The room hadn't been decorated for the occasion. All the curtains were drawn on the high windows to block the rays of the setting sun, and the only light in the room was provided by the fire that burned in the fireplace, though it was a warm evening.

Bella felt herself beginning to sweat in her fine black dress as she kneeled on the carpet between Rodolphus and Lucius Malfoy, in front of the armchair that occupied the Dark Lord. The supporters, dressed in their black hoods and ceremonial adorned silver masks, surrounded him in a semicircle according to their status. Bella felt a dozen eyes staring at her from behind the masks, but she saw only the Dark Lord.

His eyes focused on each of the three men who would soon become his followers. She felt a burning need for him to look at **her** , speak to **her** , but he treated her like a ball of dust on the carpet, something tiny and unimportant.

"In Malfoy Manor we don't let pets into the drawing room," Malfoy said to Rodolphus with a venomous grin.

"Quiet," the Dark Lord ordered before Bella could bite back. Even then he didn't even spare her a glance. He rose from his chair gracefully and approached the fireplace, leaving the four to kneel.

"Years ago, at the beginning of my career, I only gathered my followers in the light of a living fire," he said. There was complete silence in the room exepet the crackling of embers in the fireplace, as if all the people were only shadows, and the Dark Lord was the only real person. "Such fire casts heavy shadows. Only it demonstrates the constant struggle between light and darkness, for without light, darkness could not exist. Light and darkness are two sides of the same coin. There are creatures who can not stand the light, while others fear darkness. Humans are like that, too. It is not some trait or our education, but our very nature, which causes people like us to be attracted to the darkness. And if any of you had any doubt, there is nothing wrong with that. This is my advice to you today, before you take on the Dark Mark; Never doubt your decisions and choices. You are the Gods in your own world, in which you decide what is good and what is bad. It is the freedom that the human mind allows us, which is preserved and realized by our abilities and status as wizards."

The silence stretched on after he had finished his speech. Bella thought she could see one of the Death Eaters shed a tear behind the mask. She herself was so moved, so thrilled. She stared at the man standing in front of the flames, even as the light burned her eyes. His words were so true and beautiful – how could anyone have doubt in such fine logic and emotion?

"This is your chance to turn back," said the Dark Lord, turning his back to the flames. "There will not be another. Once you take the Dark Mark, your life would be the service, and the service your life."

The three didn't move, as expected.

"Then we shall begin," said the Dark Lord, looking back into the flames, and for a moment Bella thought he was smiling (or was it just a trick of light?). "I ask everyone who does not take part in the ceremony to leave the room."

Bella felt everyone looking at her. She stood up straight.

"I demand to take part in the ceremony," she said clearly. "I want to be a Death Eater."

The silence was broken by a few smirks. Malfoy covered his mouth. Rodolphus bowed his head, his body very still. But Bella looked only at the Dark Lord. At first she thought he hadn't heard her, or had chosen to ignore, but then he looked away from the coals and straight at her. Bella felt a shudder of fear flutter in her heart.

"You demand to become a Death Eater?" He repeated slowly, dangerously. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel like an object put for sale. "Why do you want to be a Death Eater so much, Mrs. Lestrange?"

Why? He didn't ask the others why. But the answer was obvious, wasn't it? She had never been one for good manners and fine words, but one for rough sincerity, and she wasn't going to stop now. Except that she had a feeling that the Dark Lord knew when he was being lied to.

"I wish to serve..." She struggled to keep a steady voice, "You."

He took one step toward her, and it was as if he had stepped on one of her nerves with his foot. "And why do you think you deserve that honor?"

"I am Bellatrix Lestrange, a pure descendant of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Bella said proudly, "A witch by the highest education and status. That's a good enough reason."

The Death Eaters raised their voices; Some were scornful and disdainful, some displeased, some mocking. The Dark Lord tilted his head, as if to see her from a new perspective. He took out his wand and twisted it between his long fingers, and she sensed he was about to curse her. Still, she remained straight and still.

"I did not think I'd come across a witch who would answer me with such directness, even insolence," he said and his followers fell silent. "It's infuriating, yet impressive. You have courage, girl – a rare trait among people with common sense. With respect to that, and in honor of your glorious dynasty, I will give you a chance to prove yourself worthy to me."

"How, my Lord?"

"I will not waste my time pondering it. Now be gone, you're starting to annoy me."

And from that moment on her existence was nothing to him. When she didn't move a few Death Eaters tried to throw her outside. She shook them off and exited by herself.

How dare he treat her like that? Couldn't he see how she admired him? How much she wanted him? She had never been so humiliatingly rejected.

Narcissa was waiting nervously outside. She tried to talk to her sister, but Bella ignored her and left the Manor, full of sudden hatred for everything and everyone. To prove herself – What a joke! Didn't he know who she was? Men fell at her feet, and he eliminated her offer to serve him as if it were an annoying fly!

She Appearated and found herself at the gates of Lestrange Estate, under deep twilight skies that covered the city. She couldn't go back there – she would go mad if she stayed there for a minute. She had to vent her anger. With that thought in mind, she began to walk into Muggle London.

The stupid muggles stared at her as if she were part of a show. She walked with a forceful stride, not knowing where, her fists clenched and her head raised despite her hurt pride. She could crush each one of these miserable creatures, only to remind herself of her power.

How dare he doubt her like that? She'll show him – she'll show everyone. To prove herself worthy, he said... The memory of his loveless eyes felt like vinegar on a fresh wound...

A mask, black as the starry night sky, gazed at her out of a shop window. Bella stopped and looked at it for a moment, before going into the store and picking it up. She looked into the empty eyes.

"Can I help you?" asked the annoying shopkeeper.

"I'm taking this mask."

"That would be one hundred and fifty pounds," she said with a smile.

"No. I think I'll take it for free."

"Excuse me, this is – " The shopkeeper's eyes glazed, and the fake smile was replace with an empty expression. "Of course, my Lady. It's yours."

The square outside Buckingham Palace was full of tourists. The last rays of the sun illuminated the palace, which towered over the shaded, cool square. Bella put on the mask. She felt secure behind it, as if she had donned a cloak of shadows that made her invisible to the eyes of the muggles. She stood in the middle of the square, studying the world behind the mask. In her hand, the golden veins in her ancient wand glowed red.

"Your dress is very pretty, lady." A little girl in a yellow dress was looking up at her. "Are you a fairy-tale princess? What is this wand? Is it a magic wand?..."

A green light was reflected in her large eyes. The girl's hair spilled across the pavement. Now the woman in the black mask was at center of the scene. She raised her wand, ready to prove herself worthy.


	8. The Prince

****

**_The Ministry of Magic is at a loss: no sign of progress in the investigation of the Buckingham Palace massacre_ **

_The identity of the witch who committed the massacre of muggles at Buckingham Palace Square last Wednesday, which has recently been nicknamed "The Masked Witch" remains a mystery. The Ministry of Magic reports today: "There is no sign of progress in locating the murderer."_

_"The only detail we know for certain is that the murder was carried out by an ancient wand," says a source in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement t. "Since it is definitely not in our current records. The Wizengamot has been trying to legislate a law that will force wizard families to disable the wands of the deceased, so they would not pass from generation to generation. It could prevent cases such as this."_

_It it too early to say whether the murder had been carried out by a supporter of the Dark Wizard He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named. Nonetheless –_

  
"Can you believe that?"

Severus looked up from the newspaper. A young wizard who was waiting outside the office of the Head of the Department of International Magical Trading Standards was the speaker. Severus realized, with some annoyance, that he was reading his paper over his shoulder.

"Everyone want themselves a piece of pure- blood meat recently eh? When there's a crime the pure bloods are the first to be blamed, like we were a bunch of uncontrollable monkeys and not the highest rank of wizards..."

Severus hummed in agreement and returned to his paper, hoping that this would indicate that he wasn't interested in small talk while waiting.

But the bored stranger didn't give up. "Not to mention that not all pure bloods support He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named..."

"That's true," Severus mumbled, trying to concentrate again.

"I'm Travers. Eddgar Travers," the wizard introduced himself.

"Severus Prince."

"Nice to make your acquaintance. Are you waiting for an interview with Mr. Avery?"

"I am."

Travers smiled brightly, showing a row of yellow teeth. "So it seems we're competing for the same job, eh?"

"I'm not competing with anyone for anything. I got an offer from Mr. Avery's son, that's all."

As expected, this statement made the other man feel threatened. His smile widened in a clear gesture of competitiveness. "You must be a very talented wizard, then."

"Some may say so."

Travers laughed coldly. "A modest guy."

"Mr. Travers," the secretary called from behind the oak counter. "Mr. Avery is ready for you."

Travers kissed the pendant on his neck for luck and entered. Severus got a quarter of an hour of silence before he came out again, looking pleased.

"It's going to be tight competition. Good luck, my friend" he told Severus with a mocking salute and left.

"Mr. Prince," the secretary called, "You may go in."

Severus rolled the paper, tucked it under his arm, took the folder containing his score sheets, and went into the office of the Head of the DIMTS.

Mr. Avery was a large wizard, who must have been quite muscular in his youth, but now became fat in areas that were once solid. He had a broad face, tanned and open, hawk- like eyes, narrow and clear as his son's, fair thin hair, combed back and groomed, and a small pale scar in the center of his lower lip.

"Take a sit," he said to Severus in a matter-of-fact tone, turning a few parchment on his desk.

Severus did as he said. The Head of the Department's desk was enormous, made of black wood with white viens, its legs shaped like those of a dragon. The walls of the room were covered with old-fashioned wallpaper in the likes of an ancient world map, with mermaids, monsters, and merchant ships moving lazily over the white waves. Display cabinets displayed a variety of antique stone and ivory objects decorated with precious gems. Severus knew for sure that the value of any such object there would easily make him rich.

"My son recommended you, but in another name," said the Head suddenly, not raising his eyes.

"I've changed my name since graduation," Severus said. "As an adult wizard, I took advantage of my independence to strengthen my connection to my mother's side of the family."

"And your mother is..."

"She was Eileen Prince."

"I don't recognize the name."

Severus didn't offer a reply. He had the feeling that Mr. Avery wouldn't have been interested if he had bothered to tell him who his mother had been.

"Well, Mr. Prince," he said suddenly, looking up and staring straight at Severus. His eyes were cold and intelligent, uncompromising. "Tell me why you think you deserve this job."

"My performance at school – "

"I don't care about your performance at school. Go on."

Severus gathered his composure, not going to let the man's arrogant attitude stand in his way.

"I'm hardworking," he said. "I'm determined. When I do something I do it in the best possible way, in every aspect of my life. Personal affairs and desires never stand in my way. I have mastered many fields of magic, especially Charms and Potions, but also – "

"Your knowledge is meaningless to me."

"This is only a measure of my ability to learn, to memorize and to internalize. I can learn any profession and take on any task. I'm never afraid to take responsibility for my choices and actions."

Mr. Avery didn't even blink as he listened to him. Severus finished making his point and stopped himself from saying any more. He waited for Mr. Avery's response. He didn't expect the response he received.

"You're hired. Miss Rookwood will give you the details."

Severus' legs took him out of the office, but his head still didn't realized completely what had happened. Outside he met Avery Junior, flirting with Miss Rookwood behind the counter.

"Snape," he said as a greeting when he saw him. "How was it?"

"He hired me." His voice sounded strange, as if it belonged to someone else.

Avery clapped him on the shoulder. "I though as much. When father decides he wants someone for the job he never waits too long. I think he decides whether he's going to hire someone or not once he steps into his office... Anyway, I suppose we'll see you a lot around here now?"

"I guess."

"You won't regret having taken my offer, Snape."

"The name is Prince."

Avery chuckled. Severus stared at him, and he tried to hide the grin behind his hand. "Sorry... But if you don't mind, I'll keep calling you Snape. That name suits you much better."

Severus ignored his last words and turned to the secretary for the necessary details.

"You will be Mr. Avery's personal assistant," Miss Rookwood said. She was a young witch with neat blond hair and glasses that rested on a small nose. "You need to be here at seven o'clock tomorrow and wait for Mr. Avery, and he will give you tasks. According to his daily schedule you will know when you will be needed at the office every day. My advice is to arrive as early as possible every morning, because you don't know when he'll decide to come. That's what I do."

"You should listen to Kattelyn," Averiyinterjected, winking at the secretary. "She's the only one here who knows what she's doing."

Miss Rookwood blushed, lowering her eyes shyly. "You flatter me, Mr. Avery..."

"I'm going to have lunch with some friends from Slytherin," Avery told Severus. "You coming?" Severus agreed. He had nowhere else to go anyway. "What about you, Kattelyn?"

"Sorry, Mr. Avery, I have to work. Maybe another time?"

"I'll take you on that. Say hi to your brother for me."

"I will, Mr. Avery. Goodbye. See you tomorrow, Mr. Prince..."

They met Wilkes in the Leaky Cauldron.

"There's a man we never thought we'd see again," Wilkes said as Severus put his paper on the table and sat down. "We hadn't heard from you since school ended. What are you doing today?"

"Snape started working for my father in the DIMTS," Avery interrupted. "Personal assistant. Nice, isn't it?"

"I've heard it's an excellent job, if you can keep it," Wilkes said. "They say it's demanding."

 "After I'll do it they'll say other things about it."

The other two laughed. "This is that Snape we know!"

Severus didn't bother to tell them that he had changed his name.

"I'm starving," Avery complained. "Can we order already?"

"I thought we'd wait for Evan and Malfoy," said Wickles.

"You know Evan is buried to the neck in the Sports Department, and Malfoy is too deep up his own arse," Avery said, signaling the innkeeper. "Since he'd been accepted to the Circle – "

"Avery!" Wilkes hissed, glancing around. His gaze focused on Severus. "You know it's forbidden to – "

"What can I get you boys?" The innkeeper appeared beside them, and that was the end of it. They ordered and waited for him to leave.

"Come on, Snape is one of us," said Avery lightly.

Wilkes tried not to look at Severus, as if he thought that if he wouldn't look at him he wouldn't be able to hear him. "He isn't... **You know**..."

"No, but he agrees with us. And he's not stupid."

"You exaggerate the secrecy of your organization," Severus said. "Every wizard with his head on his shoulders knows exactly who is on which side."

"Let's not talk about it here," Wilkes said nervously.

Avery seemed to disagree, but before he could say anything the door opened and his attention shifted elsewhere.

"Well, well, look who's here..."

Barty Crouch Junior was standing in the doorway, arranging his robe with typical nervousness as he scanned the dining hall for a vacant spot.

Avery signaled to him. "Crouch! Over here!"

"What are you doing?!" Wilkes hissed.

"Offering him to sit with us. What's crawled up your arse today? Relax."

Crouch hesitated of a moment, then began to approach. "Would it be all right if I sat here?" he asked. "The rest of the tables are taken."

"Of course, Barty, sit down. We haven't seen you around recently."

"Yes... I was very busy in the office. I work with my father, you know... He isn't the most easy- going employer..."

"No, I suppose he doesn't make it easy for you. But we hoped you wouldn't cut yourself off from your friends because of work."

Severus picked up the hidden meaning of his words. Crouch also seemed to have realized because he looked a bit nervous. "Of course not. I do what I can..."

The food arrived, and Crouch ordered. They talked about the English Quidditch Cup while they ate. When they finished, they payed and go ready to go back to the Ministry. Outside the heavy August skies showered a gloomy rain of late summer, and the dinning hall was dimly lit.

"My father and I are having a little social gathering on the tenth of September," said Avery as they prepared for the trip by Floo. "I hope all of you could come."

Wilkes and Crouch confirmed their arrival at once.

"What about you, Snape?"

Lily's wedding was going to be on September 10th, as was written on the enchanted invitation sent to him by owl, were colorfully painted bells swung and rang and white petals fell softly.

"I have a previous commitment," he said.

"Too bad," said Avery, examining Severus in his father's hawk eyes. "My father will be very disappointed if you won't be there. He doesn't accept anyone to work that easily – he probably sees something in you. I think you should reconsider."

Severus wasn't stupid, and Avery's hints were clear.

"I'll make an effort to be there," he said, knowing exactly what was going to be the nature of that so called gathering.


	9. Flowers in the Darkness

Regulus took Agripa's book _"Views on the Beginning of the Magical World"_ to the annual pure- blood families ball. Events like that were rarely interesting to him, since he didn't enjoy being surrounded by too many people, and the excessively polite mannerisms intended to conceal enmity and jealousy usually made him feel like prey being stalked by a predator. He knew that one day he would have to take an integral part in such events, since he was the heir of his house, but today he could afford to slip out and sink peacefully into a world of wisdom.

He found his way to a dim gallery above the ballroom, at level with the enormous crystal chandelier that illuminated it. From there he could watch the guests while they were unaware of him. The dances had already begun, and couples moved gracefully across the floor. Regulus looked for his parents and saw them conferring with a few other wizards their age in a corner. He feared they would soon start looking for him.

He sat with his back to the wall and opened the book in the light of his wand. The music playing around him faded in his head as he sank completely into the ancient text. From time to time, when he marveled at the wisdom of the words flooding him, he suddenly remembered the peculiar stranger he had met at Bellatrix's wedding. _One must read in order to question reality_ – these were his words. But as a result of his rigid education, Regulus had never learned how to doubt what he was taught.

He read a few short chapters before he remembered where he was. He didn't know how long it had been, so he switched off the light, shrunk the book so it would fit in his pocket, and sadly turned back, convinced that his mother was already impatiently searching for him.

He spotted her from afar across the dance floor. She stood alone by a group of wizards who were talking to her husband, her gaze set aside, lost in thought. Regulus was surprised how young she looked when she was daydreaming, and how much that look reminded him of himself. He didn't want to approach, for fear he would never see that look on her face again, but he did anyway.

"They should be ashamed to show their faces here," said one of his father's friends. "If I were him I would have left the country all together..."

The source of the gossip was revealed to Regulus after a moment.

"We wouldn't want to see you leave the country, Augustus," said Mr. Potter, emerging with his wife behind the speaker. The group fell silent immediately. "Good evening to you, friends."

"Walburga," said Mrs. Potter, who used to be Mrs. Black's good friend before she had married. "You look wonderful."

"You as well, Euphemia, as always," Mrs. Black replied with the expected courtesy and hypocrisy. Everyone knew that Mrs. Black would never forgive Mrs. Potter for taking her rebellious son in.

Mr. Potter scanned the group with dark, intelligent eyes that lay behind glasses. His gaze fell on Regulus, who was probably the most welcoming face he had seen since he entered the room. He smiled, nodded at him, and led his wife away.

Once they were out of earshot, the gossip resumed.

"I heard that their only son is going to marry a mudblood, and with their blessing!"

"Mr. Potter is giving a speech tonight," Mr. Black said gravely. "His words are not likely to be pleasant to our ears."

"Not at all... The Potters have gone bad, everyone knows that. What a pity – they had been a noble line..."

Regulus' mother sighed. He realized that she wasn't listening to the discussion at all, but looking at the dance floor with sad longing.

Regulus held out his arm. She took it and let it lead him away from her husband, and to the dance floor.

"You're a good dancer," she told him after they had found their place and right pace for the dance. "I've never seen you dance before."

"I don't like it very much," he lied. He never had the courage to ask a girl to dance.

"I used to dance a lot," she told him as he led the dance, her gaze glazed. "I used to come to the balls just for that."

"What happened?"

"I got married. Orion doesn't enjoy dancing, a bit like you..."

The dance was over, and another one was about to begin. Regulus felt a hand on his shoulder.

A witch in a black mask signaled that she wished to have that dance. Regulus recognized her immediately from the pictures in the Daily Prophet. He glanced at his mother, who was already moving away, and he knew he had no escape. It was considered rude to refuse to dance with a woman, even if she was a mass murderer that no one had seen her face. So he danced with her.

She was tall – taller then him – and as she swayed her skirt moved like and ominous dark cloud, making him feel even smaller. Her black mask was studded with small diamonds, like stars; Regulus focused his eyes on them, fearing to gaze into the dark eyes that looked at him from behind the mask. Her perfume was strong, sweet and dark, like fine bitter wine; It was very deterring, and he attributed that without hesitation to some short of magic. The use of such products to create a harmless or threatening impressions, or to prevent other wizards from interpreting ones feelings and thoughts, was very acceptable in these circles. She used it so she wouldn't be recognized, but nothing in the world could make a trained prey such as Regulus to be taken by surprise by his oldest predator. No mask could hide the black fire in her eyes.

He felt that everyone were looking at them as they moved across the floor. He knew no one would call Aurors to such an event, especially in light of the rumors that the Dark Lord was honoring them with their presence, but that didn't assuage their fear of the criminal, nor reassured their curiosity. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed his parents watching him intently.

The dance seemed to last forever. The Masked Witch wasn't the ideal dancing partner; She expressed very little willingness to be led, and seemed to demand to lead herself. Soon the dance was more of a power struggle than an enjoyable way to pass the time.

When it was finally over, Regulus planned to thank her and get away, but Rabastan ruined his plan when he suddenly appeared there.

"The Dark Lord wants to see you," he said, looking at Regulus and then at the Masked Witch. "Both of you."

He led them to one of the gallerias above the ballroom, like the one Regulus hid in at the beginning of the ball. The Masked Witch walked ahead of him, still not opening her mouth. Regulus wondered if like him, she felt afraid inside. He had a certain idea of why the Dark Lord wanted to see him, but as he climbed, he told himself it was a ridiculous thought. The man probably just wanted to see the face of the heir to the House of Black, nothing more. If so, he was likely to be disappointed.

They were led into a booth overlooking the hall where half a dozen people sat in armchairs and couches, sipping wine and smoking pipes. Regulus recognized Rodolphus Lestrange, Theos Avery, who used to be friends with Mr. Black, Lucius Malfoy, and Antonion Dolohov, known for his public support for the Dark Lord. They spoke to each other in quiet voices, as they were afraid to wake someone up. They all fell silent and looked up as the three entered. The attention immediately focused on the Masked Witch, who adopted it gracefully, as if it where a jewel. If anyone but Regulus knew her true identity, they didn't said a word. 

In an armchair overlooking the ballroom, with his back to the room, sat the Dark Lord.

Rabastan approached him and knelt. Regulus paused for a moment, looking at the familiar faces that didn't recognize his presence, before he too knelt. He was surprised by the turn of events, but not so shocked.

"Rise," said the Dark Lord, looking away from the bright hall. Regulus straightened up beside the Masked Witch, who didn't kneel at all. "You are dismissed, Rabastan. Sit, my guests."

Regulus sat rigidly in the armchair to the left of the Dark Lord, and the woman to his right.

"I have been thinking much about our discussion," he told Regulus. "About history and literature. I would like us to continue it."

His face was the face of the stranger he had met in the bathroom more than a month ago, but now that he knew who he was, something about it seemed different. Strangely enough, he seemed less impressive and mysterious as the Dark Lord than as the scholarly stranger who had reminded him so much of himself.

"What about the House of Black?" Asked Regulus, who had also thought about the discussion a lot during the past month.

"I would like to continue that discussion too, but unfortunately my plans have changed," said the Dark Lord. "You see, I planned to talk to you in private, like last time, when you are unaware of my status. However, lately my job requires all my time, and I do no have time to walk among people like a faceless stranger... I cannot reveal my thought to you when you know who I am. We must wait."

"Until when?"

"Until I trust you more."

An ominous sense came over Regulus.

The Dark Lord turned to the Masked Witch. "I'm surprised that a powerful witch such as you honors us in her presence," he said.

She nodded in a grateful gesture, but said nothing.

"There are rumors that you are trying to compete with me," he continued. "Tell me, are they true?"

"And if they are?" Her voice was very quiet and pleasant, like the ringing of silver bells in the distance. Regulus had no doubt that the Dark Lord had noticed that it wasn't her real voice, but a mirage created by a spell. "Does the Dark Lord feel threatened?"

"Does the oak feel threatened by a flower that grows amidst it?"

"It may, if the flower drinks its water."

"The water needed for a flower to blossom are nothing compared to water the oak consumes. The answer is no, my dear. It does not feel threatened at all. The flower is the one who should feel threatened when it grows so close to the trunk of the oak. The flower needs sunlight, and the oak casts a heavy shadow."

"There are flowers that grow in the dark," was the witch's answer.

Then the Dark Lord did something odd – he laughed. His followers, who were speaking in quiet voices behind them, fell silent and looked at him in astonishment. Regulus imagined that the Dark Lord didn't laugh often, and he was glad for that; It was a cold, mocking, almost diabolical noise.

"Certainly, there are plants that grow in the dark," he said, "Although, It seems to me you had never encountered true darkness."

He turned to Regulus. "Well, did the great book lover already find time to read Angus Normandin's new book about the power struggles in Europe between wizards and muggles?"

"I finished it a few weeks ago," Regulus replied, "Mr. Normandin is a close friend of my Father and has done much of the research for his book in our library. He gave me the first copy of his book."

"I'm looking at it right now, and I must say it disappoints me. The findings are familiar, the conclusions are clear and lacking innovation... "

"I actually found his view refreshing. His description of the transition of wizards from rulers to subjects at the end of King Arthur's was very enlightening."

"Perhaps it's because you haven't studied the subject before?"

" No, I haven't."

"Well, my personal advice to you is to start looking into it," said the Dark Lord. "You are to be head of your family, am I right? The head of an ancient, pure family like the Blacks mustn't rest easy at times like these, where wizards compromise the dignity and status of the pure- bloods, and the iron fist of the muggle society only grows stronger around our necks. Do you not agree that we must break this hold and regain our rightful place as the rulers of the world?"

The answer was clear to Regulus was as the light of the sun. He was raised by that answer, sucked it from his mother's breasts and absorbed it every moment of his life as an adult. There was no other answer. Not for him.

"Of course," he said.

"Good," said the Dark Lord at the answer he wanted to hear. "I am sure it would not be too much for me to ask you to learn about the subject until the next time we meet. It is for your own good, after all. Although I must admit that it's also a personal whim on my part. You would not expect a person like myself, who is surrounded by his supporters day and night, to struggle with finding someone to talk to, but the truth is that I've always had a hard time finding intellectual partners. You are returning to school next week, I suppose? I will let you know when our next meeting will take place, and I will arrange a safe passage for you outside the castle. The teachers would not know a thing."

Regulus nodded nervously. Not many things escaped the sharp gaze of the Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, or the Headmaster himself, yet the Dark Lord wasn't just a troublesome student. He knew he shouldn't be hoping he would get caught, but he was.

"My Lord." Lucius Malfoy leaned to the Dark Lord's ear. He was whispering, but Regulus heard every word. "Potter is about to make his speech. I ask again if I may – "

"It is not necessary at the moment," the Dark Lord interrupted. "We will hear what he has to say."

"But, my Lord, your followers won't tolerate hearing him denounce you, and in such publicity – "

"We will let him speak," repeated the Dark Lord. "We would not want them to think we silence our oppressors. I'll take care of him myself, if he is too blunt."

"My Lord, I – "

"It's final, Malfoy. Get out. I'm getting impatient."

Malfoy left with extraordinary obedience.

Regulus rose to his feet. "I beg your pardon, sir. My parents must be looking for me."

He was sure that the attempt to slip away would fail, that the Dark Lord would ignore him or send someone to take care of it, but he just nodded, lost in thought.

"Fine. Do not forget out agreement, Regulus."

Regulus nodded, then bowed and left.

The dancing stopped until after the speeches, and the instruments were removed from the stage to make way for the speakers. Regulus noticed Mr. Potter standing at the foot of the stage, going over his speech for the last time. An urge to turn his back and walk away came over Regulus, and for a moment he almost gave in to it. But he forced himself to walk forward and face the man. He had to talk to him, that was all – to say a few words to him, and he would be free of responsibility and remorse.

"Mr. Potter," he addressed him, the words coming out of his mouth  if he had no control over him.

Mr. Potter looked up from the speech. He looked very much like his only son, even though age had already taken its toll on his face and body, which still displayed grace and nobility against the frailty of old age.

"Mr. Black," he replied pleasantly. "I don't think we were ever properly acquainted. It's not surprising, considering the tension between our families."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but there's no time for that now," Regulus said, suddenly feeling a strong urge to make sure no one was listening to him. Maybe it was a mistake talking to him at all... "You mustn't speak against the Dark Lord tonight."

He expected Mr. Potter to ignore his words, even to laugh at him, but he only gave him a serious, rather sad look. "I'm sorry, son, but that's something I have to do."

"Your words will fall on deaf ears," Regulus continued. "Every person in this room who doesn't support the Dark Lord won't dare to make in public. You're wasting your time."

"It's the only thing I can do. Years ago, when Lord Voldemort's name came up for the first time among the people here, we didn't believe that he would reach such a status. We have to put an end to this cruelty and evil."

"You don't understand," Regulus insisted, grinding his teeth. An old wizard at the refreshment table was looking at them. He had to get away. "The Dark Lord will silence you himself if you cross the line. He will kill you, Mr. Potter."

He hoped to shock him by saying that. But instead of being afraid, Mr. Potter only shook his head sadly.

"You are very much like your brother, Mr. Black, even if both of you refuse to acknowledge that fact," he said. "I'll tell you something I told him and my son: We mustn't live in fear. The wizard whom you call the Dark Lord and his men are nothing more than thugs who try to achieve their goals through violence and intimidation. If I will not speak tonight, I will allow him another victory in his path to rule. I can not allow that to happen."

"Even for your life?"

"My boy," said Mr. Potter, placing a hand on Regulus' lean shoulder, making him flinch back in surprise. Mr. Potter's hand dropped, and Regulus felt a curious regret for having moved away. "Trust me when I tell you that anyone who decides to support the Dark Lord instead of resisting him, and even the Dark Lord himself, are people who are extremely afraid of death, who can't stand the thought of an end. This kind of fear makes people do terrible things. If standing in the way of the darkest wizard our society has seen in a thousand years will cost me my life, I will gladly give them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to prepare for my speech... Goodbye, Mr. Black. I was glad to meet you at last."

Regulus wished he would put his hand on his shoulder again, but he didn't. So he stepped away, blending into the crowd. The conversation with Mr. Potter didn't make him feel better about himself, and he certainly wasn't free of remorse.


	10. Masqurade

Bella was excited. Perhaps even more excited then she had been on her wedding day. She arrived to the annual ball with Rodolphus and Rabastan, but couldn't wait for them to excuse themselves from her company, as she knew they would do; Because somewhere in gallerias that overlooked the ballroom, the Dark Lord awaited.

Finally Rodolphus parted from her to join his master. He seemed reluctant to do so, as if he feared to leave her to her own devices. Not because he cared for her, she knew – if during their short marriage he had grown to love her, his anger at her for humiliating him in front of the Dark Lord and the Circle subsided it, even if he tried to hide it behind his unbreakable composure. No – he feared what she would do if left alone. He feared a second humiliation.

"Don't worry," she told him before he left. For some reason she was annoyed by the fact that he hadn't forgiven her yet. "You'll be proud of me yet."

Rodolphus seemed unsure as he walked away, glancing at her over his shoulder.

As soon as he was gone Bella slipped from the ballroom to the upper floors of the estate, which were forbidden to guests. Still, as she climbed the stairs, the echo of the ball thundering under her feet, she wasn't afraid to be caught wandering about the Goyle Mansion without permission. She was filled with burning excitement, like a dancer before a great show, and nothing could take that joy away from her.

She slipped into one of the guest rooms, which she know from her last visit to the mansion – an unsuccessful matchmaking attempt that ruined a very nice dinner. As she had commanded, one of the Black's house elves was waiting for her there with all the things she had asked him to bring. She didn't trust the Lestrange's house elves, not since she had discovered that each one of them was spying on her of Rodolphus' mother.

  
Bella dismissed the house elf, locked the door, then took off her shoes, her jewelry, disbanded her hairdo, and took off her expensive blue dress, throwing it on the floor with disinterest. Then she opened the bundle brought by the house elf and spread its contents on the guest bed.  These were exactly the things she needed to create the perfect disguise; A dark silver evening dress, plain but beautiful, high white shoes, long matching gloves, a pair of long silvery earrings and her black velvet mask.

Bella ran her fingers over the stars embroidered in the silk with love. She wished she hadn't had to hide it deep in her closet since the last time she had wore it, and yet now, after the long separation, it looked even more captivating in her eyes.

She wore her disguise, including the mask, and then looked at herself in the mirror. It was precisely the simplicity and lack of ornamentation of the dress that made it breath-taking; It exposed her shoulders and back seductively, and would make her stand out like a candle in the darkness among the other women. She also left her long hair spread over her shoulders and back, in a very unconventional way for a woman in a ball.

The earrings she wore were a particularly expensive item she had bought at Knockturn Ally during the first dreary weeks of her marriage. The pair of glittering silvery rapids were enchanted to magnify her costume, so that even the most talented Legilimens couldn't reveal her true identity.

And the crowning glory – her mask. It was precisely when she wore it to hide her true identity that she felt she could truly be herself, and at the same time someone else completely. Someone more beautiful, more powerful, more cunning – the woman who had committed a shocking mass murder and didn't care. Because she wasn't Bellatrix Black, but some other woman, who saw these muggles as nothing more than annoying flies and had no trouble crushing their miserable lives to show the world her true power and status...

She smiled contentedly at the image of the mirror, which she recognized only with difficulty. Now it was time to go on stage and began the show.

The ballroom dancing was in full swing as she entered the hall. Her entry didn't receive the attention it deserved, she thought – too few noticed her and watched her in amazement as she passed them. She mustn't get lost in the crowd. The spotlight belonged to her.

She stood at the edge of the dance floor and scanned the area for a suitable mate to share the audience's attention with. At the far end she noticed her aunt Walburga dancing with Regulus.  
Bella smiled to herself. Little Regulus, never able to get away from his mother's skirt... It was time for her to take on the task of finally making him a man.

She walked gracefully across the dance floor, as if walking alone was a dance in its own right, and dancing couples who almost collided with her stared. The dance was over. Bella stood behind her cousin and put her gloved hand on his shoulder. He turned to her and almost jumped back. She motioned to him that she wanted – demanded – to have the next dance. Aunt Walburga gave her one look before she realized who she was, and withdrew in surrender. Regulus looked after her like an abandoned puppy, and then the dance began.

Bella had to admit that her little cousin was a better dancer than she had expected. Agility was an advantage he had won when he had lost in all other areas. He may have matured, but to Bella his face was still the face of a frightened boy, and his thin fingers were not meant to hold a woman in any way.

The dance was over. As Bella had expected, all the eyes were now on her. She knew what thoughts were running behind all those eyes – was she the mysterious murderer whom everyone was talking about? What was she doing there? Why won't she show her face? Her performance reached its ultimate climax, filling her with a satisfaction to which she immediately became addicted.

When Rabastan approached them and passed on his master's request to speak to them, Bella felt that her plan couldn't have been realized better. It was the first time she had appeared in public appeal since she had proved herself, and the Dark Lord was already interested in her.

Rabastan led them to the Dark Lord's booth, oblivious to the fact that the woman following him was his sister-in-law, the woman with whom he spent many hours each day in idleness.  
The place where the Dark Lord's faithful had gathered was just as Bella had expected it to be; Dark, quiet, heavy with the scent of charcoal and pipe smoke. That was what the Dark Lord loved, darkness and quiet. He was a humble man to the level of abstinence.

Bella looked for him as soon as the door opened. She noticed his silhouette against the verandah overlooking the hall, and her heart made a sudden leap like a frightened doe.

The Dark Lord's supporters sat in armchairs behind him, all handsome in their dress robes. Their attention was immediately directed at her, as if she were an actress rising on stage at the opening of a play. And like that actress, Bella adopted the attention with the intent of giving her best performance.

She knew all those men who were watching her so eagerly. She was almost tempted to remove the mask at that moment only to shame Malfoy, who was examining her with unrestrained sexual interest, without any trace of shame. And Rodolphus – she knew the desire in his gaze, though it wasn't directed at his wife, but at a strange woman. But she wasn't jealous at the thought of him desiring another woman; She herself intended to replace him with a better man when the time came, it would have been hypocritical not to let him enjoy the looking at other women, especially if they were actually herself.

She was brought before the Dark Lord. She knew she was interesting to him – otherwise he wouldn't have called on her – so she allowed herself not to bow. She was going to prove to him that she was as good as he was. He had to understand that he would be nothing without her.

He wanted her, it was clear to her throughout their conversation. With all his greatness, the Dark Lord was still a man, and no man could remain indifferent to Bellatrix. His black eyes were opaque, his body unmoved, but even when he turned to talk to Regulus, Bella caught the delicate frequencies he transmitted without his knowledge – waves of confidence that told her that he was convinced he would conquer her.

After her cousin left, she allowed herself to express her curiosity about the Dark Lord's interest in him.

"That young man seems to be a loyal supporter," she said pleasantly, although she thought Regulus would be a failure as a Death Eater.

"Oh, he will be, one day. I have big plans for young Mr. Black. Would you like some wine?"

He snapped his fingers and a rich dark liquid was poured from an old bottle into two beautiful glass goblets. Bella picked up one of them, smelled it with pleasure, but didn't take a sip. He probably still thought she was a little stupid if he believed she would actually drink something he offered her.

"He looks a bit frightened, don't you think?"

"Everyone is afraid at first. But Regulus has a sharp intellect and a rare curiosity, two traits that my supporters lack. He could be a great wizard one day, if he would allow me to guide him on his way to glory."

"I am pleasantly surprised by your devotion to your followers. Each of them must be a great wizard if you have accepted him to your service."

"Certainly. I do not accept men into my Circle easily – they must first prove their devotion to wizards society, and not just to me. As for my devotion to them – I am the leader of these people. A leader is to serve his followers, as his followers serve him."

Bella was once again struck by the power of the Dark Lord's simple words. Undoubtedly, he was not only a great wizard, but an unrivaled leader.

"Do you only accept men to your Circle? No woman has ever been awarded with the Dark Mark?"

"No. I have found that women are distracting to the followers. They are cunning, and tend to have secret agendas... No, I'm afraid women do not have a place among my followers. Except that I have not yet met a woman who has satisfied me in terms of loyalty and abilities."

"No one? You have never considered taking a witch in your Inner Circle?" Bella asked, desperate to hear him mention her name. He couldn't have forgotten her request.

"No. But why do you ask, my Lady? You wish to join me?" Asked the Dark Lord with a sly grin, swirling the wine in his cup.

"Absolutely not," Bella replied, perhaps a little too sharply. She hid her uneasiness behind a grin of her own. "I thought more about... A partnership."

"A partnership, you say?" The Dark Lord replied with a slick tone. "It is a bold request to make to someone like me."

"I thought you would appreciate boldness."

"I do appreciate it, to a certain extent." His eyes focused on the mask's eye slits. "Not long ago I have met an extremely insolent young witch who demanded that I make her a Death Eater. I have never encountered such disrespect. It's odd that I've met two such witches in such a short period of time, is it not?"

For one terrifying moment, her heart told her that he had revealed her disguise. That he knew who she really was, and he was going to do something terrible to her as punishment for trying to deceive him. But he seemed so calm and calculated, not angry at all, so he must still be oblivious.

"It is a strange coincidence," she replied, forcing herself to speak steadily. "Maybe it's a sign... That it's time you should consider finding a place for women among your supporters."

"Perhaps," he said, sipping his wine. She was sure he was about to do something unpredictable, but he just sat there and looked in the direction of the hall as Fleamont Potter started to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests," the speaker began. The chatter died away, replaced with tense silence in anticipation of what would be a particularly scandalous speech "It is an honor to speak to you tonight. Without unnecessary delays, I will immediately address the subject at hand: It is a particularly burning issue, especially in an evening like this, where representatives of all pure- blood families are gathered under one roof. There is an epidemic that is spreading slowly but steadily in our society in recent years. It is a deadly plague that takes many lives, the lives of those who suffer from it and those of many others, innocents. The person who is spreading this plague is sitting among us this evening. He is treated like a hero, instead of being treated as the criminal he is. Lord Voldemort is a criminal of the worst and most despicable kind."

Mr. Potter paused in order to soothe a wave of angry murmurings that didn't come come. A tense, terrible silence stood in the hall.

"He is poisoning the well from which we drink," he continued, not letting the frightening response undermine him. "He send our sons into a hopeless battle, where they will die in the hand of other wizards. We all know his ambitions well, the white cloak of hope he dons when he appears in public. But his disguise mustn't fool us, and his true face mustn't be forgotten – the face of a cruel, uncompromising monster, thirsty for blood.

"As we all know, our society has been in a standstill for almost a thousand years. There is no point in denying that. Some blame the muggles who once persecuted us. There is truth in that – once the unmagical have halted our development. But it is not the case today. We are to blame for out lack of development. We are a conservative society, uncompromising and rigid – we continue to enforce the cage in which we are imprisoned, by hating anything innovative, rather than breaking through it by progress. Ladies and gentlemen, what is called the Muggle's Iron Fist is only a vision of people who had been lost in darkness for centuries. We are the ones who are afraid to turn on the light and see what the world has to offer us, out of fear that this abundance will be new and unfamiliar.

"Magic is might, on that Lord Voldemort and I agree. But why use this power to cause suffering, to provoke hatred and fear? Why not use it to thrive? Why do we insist on shunning wizards and witches that have muggle blood? We continue to tell ourselves that they are inferior, wretched, when the truth is we are afraid of them. Yes, we are afraid of the possibility of a world where muggles and wizards can live side by side, because that is what fathers and mothers taught us. We mustn't live in fear of losing our fortune and prestige. We must embrace every wizard and witch. That is the only way we can restore out society's glory, shake off the dust of centuries, and realize our true power.

"Some say that our society is dying. I think they're wrong. A body that does not create anything, and instead is only consuming itself, is already dead. My friends – our society is dead."

Mr. Potter scanned the audience with a grave look, and the spark of his eyes could be seen from far away.

"But like the phoenix, it could rise again from the ashes, if we only let it. We cease the internal wars, stop following wizards who call themselves lords and promise to bring back the glory of the past. Each and every one of us must shed the burden of the past and march bravely toward the future."

He pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at the audience with a sad look.

"The last enemy to be destroyed is death. Life cannot exist without death, as light cannot exist without darkness. Death, failure, destruction – they'll always be there. But this is no reason to be enslaved by them, to make them a way of life. Everyone loses in the end in the battle against death, but it is not such a terrible loss – not as terrible as the loss that will be our lot if we follow a person who fear and terror are his way. Thank you for your time."

He descended the stage without applause. Only then did people began to murmur in dissatisfaction. Bella looked toward the Dark Lord, who was watching the people talking about the speech with a blank face, unreadable. She yearned to know what he was thinking. His Death Eaters looked at him expectantly.

Finally he mentioned with his finger, and Malfoy came up to him quickly.

"Gather all the followers," his master told him, not taking the his eyes off the dispersing crowd. "Mr. Potter has crossed the line."

"Of course, my Lord, immediately," Malfoy fawned. "Who will command the operation?"

"I will."

"My Lord..." Malfoy looked at his master in confusion as he got to his feet and straightened to his full height.

"Are there any questions, Malfoy?"

"No, my Lord." Malfoy bowed and walked away.

Bella rose and stood beside the Dark Lord. "His insults were shameful," she told him passionately. "Let me join and help you regain your honor – "

"Regain my honor? I must me confused, my Lady," said the Dark Lord, towering over her. He was looking at her with a snaring amusement, somewhat offensive, as if he was talking to a child. "My honor remains intact. But the words Potter has said to these respectable people are unacceptable to me. Each and every one of them is the scion of an ancient and noble house, and they do not deserve the criticism of a delusional old man. It is their honor that I'm defending tonight, not my own."

Bella found herself nodding. She was so touched, as if he had promised to protect her own honor personally.

"The Dark Lord is... So noble..." Her voice trembled uncontrollably. Not knowing how to express her gratitude, she knelt before him with the dignity she had insisted on not giving him before.

"Rise. It is not the time for that."

The Dark Lord stepped up to the verandah, looking down at the agitated people. Bella got to her feet and came to stand beside him hesitantly.

"You said you were interested in a partnership," he said to her, looking at his men as a shepherd looks at his sheep. "I will consider it, if you could prove to me that besides defeating a few muggles, you are devoted to these people as much as I am." 

Bella nodded, her throat choked with shame and gratitude. For the first time since what she had done, a spark of remorse came to life in her heart that had turned dark and numb since that day. The Dark Lord was so wise – no wonder he refused to take her to his Circle. She had acted like a spoiled brat. She had killed all these people for nothing...

But there was still hope for her. She would prove him her worth, this time in the right way.

 

 


	11. The All Time Loser

Mr. And Mrs. Potter escaped that night only with their lives. The day after the ball the Daily Prophet reported that a great fire burned down the Potter's Manor in the south of the country; No one had been hurt, except a thousand years of that Potter family's legacy that had been burned to dust. That Dark Mark that floated above the ruins made the message clear – Mr. Potter disparaged the history and honor of the pure- blood families, so his family's history and honor were burned to a cinder.

The Daily Prophet also reported that Lily Evans, James Potter's fiance, who had been staying at the Potter house that night, stated that she had seen the face of one of the Death Eaters. She recognized him as Augustus Rookwood, who had been in Slythrien two years above Regulus, and was known to be an enthusiastic supporter of the Dark Lord. An investigation had been opened against him.

Regulus' mother called the girl names. This father's face was unreadable, as always. Regulus was only glad the Dark Lord didn't kill all of them, and secretly hoped that Evans would soon understand who she's dealing with, and would withdraw her statement.

However, by the end of the first week of Regulus' seventh year, he realized he had bigger problems. Waiting in front of Madame Pince's counter as she carefully noted the names of the books he wanted to lend, he didn't miss the way her sharp little eyes disappeared under her brows. Regulus waited tensely for her to do or say something.

"What's your name?" She asked him.

"Regulus Black."

He watched her scribble his name in her notebook, in neat little letters, as she did for every student who lent a book. Yet he felt as if had been caught in the act.

"That would be all," she said, handing him his books. He took them and walked away, feeling like a fool.

He had to know that the staff would look at him suspiciously if he lent so many books about the purity of blood from the library. He could have made up an excuse – he could have told the librarian, casually, that it was for an essay for History of Magic, but for some reason, the lie came to him too late.

He was a terrible liar. If he wouldn't get better at it quickly, he would soon be in great trouble.

He pushed the books into his bag as he left the library and began to make his way to the west tower, which was filled with abandoned classrooms that were the refuge of the school's loners. He spent a lot of time there that past week, each time accompanied by a new heap of history books about the legacy of famous pure- blood wizards and the importance of pure wizard's blood. He swallowed them eagerly, his eyes running past the letters in search of a new detail he didn't know yet.

He had taken the task the Dark Lord gave him seriously. Whether he did it out of will or out of fear, it didn't matter. It was something he had to do, like attending family events and getting good grades. As simple as that.

He hadn't told his parents that he had met the Dark Lord twice already. He knew he had to do it, that they would be pleased when they discovered the Dark Lord's interest in their son and heir, but the right words never came to him. Like laying, it seemed so simple in his head, but in reality he couldn't pronounce the words. Perhaps he was afraid that if he spoke the words aloud, they would become unavoidable reality.

As he walked, he could see the Quidditch pitch outside the windows. It was a damp, rainy day, and the grass was green and fresh at the peak of autumn. In the center of the pitch was a gathering of students, and above them green figures flew around quickly...

Regulus halted with a terrible understanding. Then he turned on his heel and began to run desperately toward the grounds, cursing himself for his stupidity. His backpack swayed on his shoulder, hitting his side again and again, as he crossed corridors and flew down flights of stairs, his breath burning his throat. He almost bumped into someone as he ran across the second floor corridor. In a desperate attempt to avoid him he strayed aside. His bag was caught on a jagged spear of a nearby armor suit; With a ripping sound the fabric was torn, his books scattered on the floor, and the suit of armor tilted and crashed on the floor at his feet.

"Dear Merlin! Watch out, Mr. Black!" Professor McGonagall barked, straightening her glasses in astonishment.

Regulus muttered an apology and began to gather his books feverishly into his torn bag. One of the books fell at the Professor's feet, and she picked it up and studied its title carefully. Regulus sprang to his feet, his books sliding through the hole in his bag and falling back at his feet as he snatched _Faust_ from her hand.

"Excuse me," he said stiffly, and bent over to resume his work with trembling hands.

McGonagall regarded him doubtfully. "Don't be silly," she said as another book fell through the rift. With a flick of her wand the bag was repaired, and so was the suit of armor. "You are a wizard, Mr. Black, or have you forgotten?"

He nodded shamefully and was about to leave.

"Stop right there! You've done enough damage, I can't let you keep running in the corridors like that."

Regulus gave her a desperate look. He never joined his housemates mockery of the Transifuartion Professor, he always thought she was a good and fair teacher. However, over the years he got the impression that his esteem wasn't mutual; He always felt that for some reason Professor McGonagall doesn't like him.

"Please, I'm late for Quidditch tryouts..."

Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Professor McGonagall didn't like Slytherin's Quidditch team.

"I'm not surprised," she said with a raised eyebrow. "I'm glad that at least you're late for other activities too, and not just for my class. Go on, but no running!"

Regulus nodded and walked away. Only when he was sure she was out of sight he started running the rest of the way to the Quidditch pitch.

By the time he arrived, the tryouts were already in progress, and he was completely breathless. He threw his backpack in the grass behind the waiting students and walked to the captain, ignoring the pain in his ribs where the corner of one of the books stabbed him during the run.

Acilles Blastrode was in Regulus' year, a very sturdy and tall boy who played Beater. They weren't friends, but Regulus always felt they shared a mutual respect for each other. On that day, however, there was no trace of that respect.

"Where the hell have you been?" The Captain demanded furiously, waving his broom handle. "I told everyone – all the team members have to be at the tryouts!"

"I know, I just – "

"You forgot, as always." All the students were watching them – the large Beater growling down at the little Seeker. Regulus felt his face redden. "I'm fed up with your behavior – we're all fed up. You can't come and go whenever you want, no matter what your name is!"

"I'm not – "

Regulus' feeble resistance was swallowed up by Blastrode's roar as he called out to the crowd of students, "Tryouts for Seeker in half an hour!"

A few of the younger students exchanged excited glances. The Keeper and Slytherin's second Beater exchanged high- fives in front of Regulus's face. He looked helplessly at Belstrode as he put on his Beater's gloves and prepared to get on his broom.

"You can't do that," was all he could say. He had no better argument, especially because he knew that the captain was right to kick him out of the team. He was a mediocre player, and he really was always late.

What will his parents say when they hear that he was kicked out of the team? His mother was so proud of his skills, she wouldn't be able to bear the disappointment. And his father –  he had already lost hope that his son would get on the team in Regulus' fourth year. What would he say when he hears that he had played for only two seasons, and even then he couldn't bring Slytherin the victory?

"Yeah? Why?" The captain seemed pleased with the rest on the team's reaction, and it strengthened his decision.

Regulus didn't have an answer.

"Hey, give him a break, Balstrode," said Rabastan Lestrange, appearing beside them in his green uniform, his broom resting on his shoulder. "We're only looking for Chaser's, what does it matter if he's here or not?"

"Because I'm the captain, and I said so," Balstrode replied between his teeth.

Rabastan approached him and spoke in a low, dangerous voice so that the rest couldn't hear him. "This show doesn't give you any credit, my friend. Let Reg keep his place on the team, and apologize some other time... He's the heir of a respectable family..."

"Who do you think you are, Lestrange?!" Belstrode said aloud. "I don't care what family he's from – no one cares! I'm sick of this pure- blood shit! This is Quidditch!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way," said Rabastan, giving him a terrifying look. That look reminded Regulus of Bellatrix so much that he felt chills. "If you don't give Reg his place back, you'd better look for a third Chaser."

"You're threatening me!?"

"I'm not threatening, I'm doing it." In a gesture of farewell to the other team members, Rabastan turned and walked away. Regulus hurried after him, not wanting to see the teams reaction to the sudden act.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said uncertainly as they left the pitch.

"Of course I did. Did you hear how he was talking?" Rabastan didn't seem bothered by what had happened on the field just seconds before. He sent Regulus an easy smile. "And besides," he added. "We need to stick together, you and I. We're both Death Eaters, after all – hey, calm down, there's no one here."

"I'm not a Death Eater," Regulus said in a quiet voice, hugging his bag to his chest. If a teacher would hear him he could be expelled.

"Maybe not now, but you will be. The Lord has big plans for you, you know."

"How do you know that?" Asked Regulus, who, despite everything, was curious to hear what the Dark Lord thought of him.

"Everyone knows that. The Lord doesn't call anyone for private conversations unless he appreciates him very much. And it's not easy to get the Lord interested, I assure you." Rabastan winked at him.

Regulus didn't answer.

"You shouldn't let people like Belstrod bring you down," Rabastan told him, making his way lazily to the lake. "You're better than him. My brother says the Death Eaters are the highest and most respected league in Europe, if not in the world – what do you say about that, eh?"

Rabastan picked a piece of pebble- covered beach and lay on his back, stretching gracefully. Regulus sat down on a nearby rock, resting his elbows on his knees. The wind was blowing hard, the sky was gray, and the lake was dark as iron; It wasn't a nice day to spend outside.

"Rodolphus lied to Slughorn so I could go to Avery's party tomorrow," said Rabastan. "I wish you could come. It would be a lot nicer if there was someone my age among the Death Eaters. The rest are so old..."

As he chatted about the Death Eaters, Regulus thought of the plans the Dark Lord had for him. Their discussions were one thing, but to become a real Death Eater – that was something else entirely... He had never thought of that possibility. He never thought he would be good enough. He hadn't imagined that one day the Dark Lord himself would be interested in him. Of all the possible ways his life could go, he didn't take into account the route he had been walking for some time, without even noticing. It was frightening, yet encouraging. Maybe he was kicked out of the Quidditch team, but he had a place in a much more respectable team, one that would make his parents much more proud of him, when he finds the words to tell them about it.

"Does it hurt?" He asked suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"Getting the Dark Mark, does it hurt?"

Rabastan smiled a mischievous, almost demonic smile, and rose gracefully on his elbows. "Very badly. Want to see it?"

Regulus nodded, mesmerized. Rabastan motioned him to approach. He crouched beside him on the pebbles, watching him roll his right sleeve.

The Dark Mark was black, opaque; Regulus had to touch the tanned skin to believe it was really tattooed into it. It was searing hot. He ran a finger over the body of the serpent crawling from the mouth of the skull, over beautifully elaborate and intricate decorations. The symbol was breathtaking.

"Nice, isn't it?"

Regulus drew his hand in a panic, suddenly aware of how he was touching Rabastan's arm.

"Yes, it's very... Impressive..." He turned to face the lake.

Rabastan sat up. He put his hand on Regulus' neck and thwarted his efforts not to look at him with a steady grip, forcing him gently towards him.

"It's not easy, being a Death Eater," he told him in a low voice. Regulus looked at every part of his face, just so he wouldn't have to look in his eyes. "Sometimes you have to do things you don't really want to do. But you have to trust the Lord, because he knows what he's doing. He's wise. He knows the right way, for all of us."

His words were comforting. Regulus felt his shoulders relaxing slightly. Maybe one day he wouldn't be so afraid of the Dark Lord, and of what he stood for.

"We should stick together, Regulus," Rabastan said for the second time. Then he pulled as the back of Regulus' neck and kissed him.

He was too shocked to reply. The new and strange gesture overwhelmed him. Only when he felt Rabastan's tongue in his mouth he realized what was happening to his body, and what they were doing. He pulled back forcefully, jumping to his feet. Rabastan was looking at him hungrily from the ground, eyes burning. He had green eyes – Regulus had never noticed that before.

"I quit the team for you," Rabastan said hoarsely, attempting to seem carefree. "Don't I at least get a kiss?"

Regulus grabbed his bag and started running, wiping his moist lips. He couldn't breath. He couldn't deal with that, too – it was just too much – he had to forget it ever happened.


	12. Party Tricks

Lily's wedding day could be golden, clear and perfect, if it weren't for the clear shadow that clouded the hearts of the bride and groom. Severus, who watched the beginning of the ceremony from the door of the church, saw clearly that behind the bride's radiant smile was a heavy sadness. He remembered what she had told him that day, in their conversation in the graveyard, and amused himself with the thought maybe she wasn't so sure about that wedding. Maybe in a moment she would stop the ceremony, leave Potter and run to him...

Scolding himself for fantasizing, he turned to scan the crowd. Lily's sour-faced sister was there, accompanied by a particularly fat man and their sick father, who barely filled an old suit and seemed completely unaware of what was going on around him. Lily told Severus that she wanted to marry in that church because her parents' had married there. Looking at Mr. Evans' stained scalp and thinking of his wife resting in her grave, he wasn't convinced that marrying in that church had brought a pleasant ending to their lives.

He glanced at his watch, and discovered that the old thing had stopped again. Cursing the muggle device in his heart, reminded himself to buy a proper wizards watch the next time he visited Diagon Alley. He had to get rid of the present one long ago – he didn't want to think what his employer would say if he discovered him wearing that watch – but his work with Mr. Avery required him to keep track of times, and without enough money for a reasonable watch he had to hide the ridiculous muggle device In his robe pocket.

To his delight, a glance at his bank account assured him that given the amount of gold he had earned in the past month, he would soon have enough to afford much more than a watch. He could repay the loan he took for the new robes, and even rent a nice apartment in London or Diagon Alley in a few months. There was nothing he wanted more, he kept telling himself – a few nights before Lily almost discovered his lie when she saw an owl flying toward his house when she wrote to him and asked him to come see the church with her. He couldn't let that happen again. However, whenever he saw her crossing the street in the evening, or walking with her father in the garden, he felt a strong need to postpone this moving as much as possible.

The ceremony was about to end. The bride and groom turned to each other, holding hands. Lily's cheeks were flushed, her eyes as bright as diamonds. She wasn't having any second thoughts.

Severus turned his back and left before Potter kissed her. He had to hurry. He told her he would leave early because of work matters, and she understood. He must be already late for Mr. Avery's party. He blamed the watch for stopping. If only he could blame it for the fact that the girl he loved was marrying someone else.

He Apperated in front of Avery Estate. The sky in that part of the country were gloomy, and a cool wind of early autumn was blowing. The leaves of some of the trees were already yellowing. He began making his way toward the house, which was a sturdy square building with high windows, somewhat threatening, a bit like its owner.

That wasn't the first time he had visited there in the past month – more than once his employer had asked him to go there to bring him documents he had forgotten at the office or to collect statements and contracts. He felt comfortable in the huge, magnificent house as soon as he stepped inside. He knew it was the kind of house he was meant to live in – it was in his blood.

The party was already in full swing. Severus lingered in the hall, adjusting his robe. In a last-minute decision, he hid his watch in of an ancient vase.

The hall was full of light, fine clothes, intellectual conversation and wine. Severus stepped inside with a straight back.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in." The voice enveloped him like a sweet, heavy perfume. He turned and found himself standing in front of Bellatrix, graceful and dangerous as always in a black dress and a silver amulet in a shape of a snake on her white breast.

Bellatrix had been in Slytherin and graduated a year before Severus. The only reason they had any short of relationship was because he had helped her with her N.W.E.T's when he had been a sixth year. The fact that she even looked at him was an amazing achievement for someone of his stature; At school she had been very popular, and very mean. He knew she had her eye on him since his first year, when, unlike the other students in his class, he didn't succumb to her vicious tests and serial pranks. He always felt that despite her viciousness, they had some sort of silent, mutual appreciation for each other.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Lestrange," he said smoothly. Although he was the guest at the party, he knew that he shouldn't forget his place among the other guests, who were superior to him in their status. He knew that half a bad word from Bellatrix in Mr. Avery's ear could get him fired. So he had to be careful – he couldn't afford to let his guard down.

"I'm impressed, Snape," said Bellatrix, rocking on her heels in a feline manner. Her long fingers played with the neck of her crystal cup, swirling the dark wine inside. A big diamond glistened on her middle finger. "I see you polished your manners for this occasion. Who is the generous man who invited you?"

"Mr. Avery, my employer."

"Very impressive, Snape. I always knew you'd do great things, despite your unfortunate starting point..."

"Your faith in me is a compliment, Mrs. Lestrange." He did not miss the mockery in her voice.

"Oh, you can call me Bellatrix, like in the good old days. Mrs. Lastrange is my mother-in-law." Bellatrix smiled wickedly.

"Of course... Bellatrix. Where is your husband?"

"Amusing his master, of course."

She toyed with her amulet with a strange airy look as her eyes strayed to a pair of luxurious stained glass doors at the end of the room. Her look reminded Severus of a broken-hearted girl gazing at her treacherous lover. It was a strange look to find in Bellatrix's mean eyes – he had never seen her look anything like that. The subject was sensitive, without a doubt. Severus was eager to examine it, to overcome and humiliate Bellatrix, but the risk was too great.

"They say Mr. Lestrange takes his duties very seriously," he lied instead.

"Yes, very seriously..." She tore her eyes from the door and rolled them in dissatisfaction. "Walk me around the hall. I hate being seen alone in social events."

Severus did as he was told, accompanying her like a puppy while she talked to important guests who didn't even notice him. It might have enraged him a month earlier, but four weeks of work under the head of the DIMTS had taught him humility and, more importantly, patience.

Mr. Avery was a tough employer – his son didn't exaggerate when he warned him about it. Severus learned that he shouldn't give himself too much credit on any matter, otherwise the criticism of his employer would be particularly harsh. Mr. Avery appreciated modesty and hard work, and at the same time was generous in his promotions. Severus felt that he had already gained some of the man's confidence; If there ever were time to be patient and pretend to be a simple Pawn until his time came, that was it.

As he accompanied Bellatrix to a conversation with a few wizards with wandering eyes, he spotted Avery Junior with some of his friends from Slytherin. Avery was, very typically, engaged in a flirting conversation with Miss Rookwood, who looked like she wanted nothing more than to get away from there. Severus didn't know why, but there was something in the way she stood alone in front of the group of men, who created the impression of a pack of wolves closing in on a wounded prey. Severus considered going over there, but from his experience he learned that for his own good he shouldn't try to play the hero.

However, it didn't seem to be necessary. Amycus Carrow noticed his gaze and informed all his friends. Miss Rookwood took the opportunity to apologize and slip away. To Severus' dismay, she made her way hastily toward him.

She grabbed his sleeve. "Mr. Avery wants to see you urgently," she told him.

Over her shoulder, Severus noticed Avery and his friends smiling. He ignored them as he said, "Of course. Excuse me, Bellatrix, I have work to attend to."

Bellatrix looked at him as if she had forgotten about him for the past an half hour. "Enjoy yourself, Snape."

He walked after Miss Rookwood, until she stopped before the stained glass doors.

"It's the Dark Lord's private parlor," she told him quietly, as if she was talking over a patient lying in his deathbed. She tightened her white shawl around her pale shoulders as if she felt a chill. "I can't go in with you, since he wants to see you alone. Just... Try not to ask questions."

Severus nodded, disdainful of her awe by the gathering place of the Death Eaters, and walked in.

Beyond the doors were heavy velvet drapes, and beyond them a wise room were all the windows were covered by olive green velvet curtains with red veins. Although it wasn't a cold day at all, the largest fireplace Severus had ever seen was blazing with fire, and the air in the room was terribly hot. In the corner farthest from the fire, probably to escape its unbearable heat, sat Severus' employer.

Mr. Avery and some of his Death Eaters friends sat in armchairs around the table, which contained a row of fine goblets and several bottles of premium drinks which were placed in an ice bucket that sweated clear beads in the heat. The gentlemen folded the sleeves of their robes –  It was all they could do against the terrible heat. Sweat glistened on their faces, especially on the face of a long-faced man that Severus had never seen before. He wore a very handsome fur-trimmed cloak and wiped his red face with a handkerchief repeatedly.

"It's about time," said Mr. Avery. It was clear that the heat made him very impatient. "I want you to go to the office and bring me a document of an external private trade agreement, including the regulations."

With a wave of his wand, they appeared in front of Severus, and he handed them over.

"What a lovely party trick," said the man in the rich fur cloak with a heavy Eastern European accent. He had pale, scornful, dark beard at the end of his long face, a proud nose stood between his thin cheeks, and his forehead was tall and gloomy. He wore rings studded with gems on his long fingers; They glittered in the flames every time he wiped his face. "I was worried you haven't arranged any entertainment for your party, Theos."

"I like to be prepared for any situation," Severus said.

"I think," said Mr. Avery in a low voice, scribbling his signature in the appropriate places on the horribly long scroll. "That I did not ask you to speak, Mr. Prince."

Severus knew that from now on he had to be silent. While the guest of his employer complained about the length of the agreements of the Ministry of Magic of England, as opposed to the parallel organization in his native country, he allowed his eyes to wander. In another corner of the room stood another silk curtain. Severus noticed a candle burning, and the clink of a crystal goblet coming from behind it.

"How long is he going to be there?" Complained a young Death Eater who was sitting next to Mr. Avery, also looking at the screen.

Severus knew him – it was Augustus Rookwood, who had been a year above him in Slytherin. He knew it, but only then did he realize that he was Miss Rookwood's younger brother. There was no resemblance between them. While Miss Rookwood was frail, fair and gentle, her brother was broad, dark and coarse.

"I wouldn't talk like that about the Dark Lord," said Lucius Malfoy smoothly, sipping cool whisky. "No one here, and especially the Lord, has forgotten how on your first mission as a Circle Member you have been exposed and endangered us all."

"No one asked your opinion, Malfoy," Rookwood replied hotly.

"Calm down," Rodolphus Lestrange warned in a low voice. "Don't forget we are in the company of the Lord, and at Theos' generous hospitality. Behave appropriately."

"You're right, Rodolphus," Malfoy said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "But I'm curious to know, Augustus – what happened with that complaint brought against you by that mudblood – what's her name? – James Potter's girl?"

The name was already on Severus's lips, but he stopped himself from saying it at the last moment. He clenched his fists, holding his wand tightly at his side, firmly forbidding himself to act. If he did something to Malfoy because of his blunt words, he would be banished from that society forever. Let them insult Lily – he shouldn't care. Defending her honor to Malfoy would gain nothing, only to end all his dreams.

"Evans," said Rabastan Lestrange, who was slumped in his chair with most of the buttons of his robe open. A chessboard stood between him and an older Death Eater whose name Severus didn't know. "Not bad looking at all. Too bad she's a mudblood."

"Check mate."

"Bloody hell!"

"You've got a lot more to learn, lad..." said the old Death Eater with satisfaction, picking up a bag of Gallons from the table.

"Yes, Evans. So, did she manage to convince anyone that she saw you at the Potters'?"

"Absolutely not!" Rookwood said firmly, his cheeks blushing in an ugly hue. "Who do you think the Wizgoment believed, some mudblood or a Ministry employee?" He suddenly seemed pleased. "There were no other witnesses but her, so they cleared me of all charges. They didn't even put me under surveillance. You see, my sister and father testified that I was with them that night, and their testimony was much more credible then hers. But its not the end, I promise you. That bitch will pay. No one stains the Rookwood name..."

"It's great to do business with you, Igor," said Mr. Avery, handing Severus the documents without looking at him.

"Always a pleasure, Theos," said the stranger. Two glasses filled with ice and whisky floated towards him. "Let us make a toast to our new trading agreement."

"Is there something else I can do, sir?" Asked Severus, who had to hear how Rookwood was going to take revenge on Lily.

"That would be it."

Severus left, not quite willingly. Outside the air was crystal clear and the daylight was almost dazzling. Miss Rookwood was waiting for him by the door.

"Everything's all right," he told her, because for some reason she seemed nervous.

"I'm glad to hear," she said. He expected her to say something else, but she just stood there looking at him.

"Are you all right?" He asked her, starting to lose his patience.

"Yes, fine," she said quickly, looking embarrassed. "I was thinking... Well, we've been working together for more than a month, and we barely know each other... We don't usually see each other outside the office..."

Severus understood the hidden intent behind her rosy cheeks. He wasn't sure what to do, something that didn't happen to him often. He had never been in such a situation – no girl had ever shown signs of interest in him.

Glancing at the stained glass door, he realized what he had to do. He sometimes compared his life to a game of cards, and the other players to his game rivals. He did his best to collect every small victory he could, and to take full advantage of the few weak cards he had. His enemies' cards were always much stronger than his, so he often lost the game of life, even though he was the best player of all of them. But he had patience, and he never stopped hanging on the possibility that in the next game he would draw a new card that would turn the tables for his favor. Now he had drawn a card like that.

"You're right," he said to Miss Rookwood. "Have you seen the garden yet?"

 


	13. To Greatness

****

Bella spent most of September and October at her writing desk. Her new habit was so uncharacteristic that even her mother-in-law lifted her ugly head and decided to snoop around her business. Bella wouldn't allow the old woman to peek at even one of the letters she had sent and received during those months – she was the last person she would have revealed the purpose of the letters to. She was so good at hiding the letters from her mother-in-law and her house-elves that the angry old woman gave up on spying and moved on to a new approach, which was an attempt to convince her son that his wife was having an affair.

"You certainly don't believe her," Bella said to her husband one evening at dinner, after his mother had finished explaining exactly how long his wife spent writing letters to her mysterious lover that day.

"No, I'm don't," Rodolphus said, "Yet I'm curious to know who you're writing to so eagerly. And don't tell it's your sister, I know it's a lie."

"They're not for my sister," said Bella, who had abandoned that lie long ago. She speared a piece of meat on her fork and studied it before putting it in her mouth. "They are for a number of influential people who would like to remain anonymous."

"And what exactly is the content of these letters?" Demanded the old woman, who filled her plate with food and didn't touch it at all.

"The Dark Lord."

Rodolphus almost choked. Bella watched him resume chewing and breathing to their proper order behind his napkin, then take a sip of wine.

"Bella," he said finally, as if taking to a child. "The Lord said – "

"That I may prove myself. And besides, I'm tired of sitting at home doing nothing. I'm just using my time for a good cause."

Old Mrs. Lestrange looked at her doubtfully. Her husband looked suspicious. "You are gathering diplomatic contacts for the Lord? That's what you're doing?"

"Exactly." Bella smiled at her husband over her goblet. He didn't seem completely convinced, but dropped the subject.

As she suspected Rodolphus knew, that story was only half the truth. And as his mother suspected, her theory was also true, even if only partly.

The Masked Witch hadn't appeared in public since the ball at the end of August. The Daily Prophet stopped discussing her because of the lack of development in her case, and the gossip about how she had suddenly appeared at the ball had already lost its juiciness. Perhaps even the Dark Lord had forgotten about her. But she was still there, waiting patiently for her reappearance in public. Meanwhile, from her hiding place deep in the mind of Bellatrix Lestrange, she wrote long love letters to a young wizard named Bartimaeus Crouch.

For several weeks Bella had she spent her days wondering incessantly how to prove herself to the Dark Lord. His words to her before he took revenge on Fleamont Potter for his speech at the ball inspired her, burning in her like a magical flame. The flame burned day and night, consuming her to the point of frustration.

She was a young, attractive, intelligent and cunning young woman. Her name alone was enough to move heavy weights in the high windows of the Ministry, and what her previous last name couldn't achieve, her husband's name did for her. Still, she could think of nothing she could do to show the Dark Lord that it would be the worst mistake he had ever made if he didn't make her his. She had always got what she wanted. The thought that she might not be able to get what she wanted more than anything was almost enough to keep her awake at night, like a hungry, angry baby writhing uncomfortably in his cradle.

Then, after three weeks of agitation and frustration, Bella got an idea. As soon as it came to her, she knew it would be perfect, and even enjoyable.

Barty Crouch had walked around Theos Avery's party like a man swimming in a lake full of snakes. He didn't eat or drink anything, while he wiped his sweating hands over his robe again and again. Looking at the freckled, childish face, she knew she had found the perfect tool.

"Does your father know you're here, Barty?" She had asked him, concealing the mockery behind a laughing smile.

The last drop of color had run out of Crouch's face at that remark. He began to stammer, wiping his hands over his robe. Even if she hadn't been looking for a way to impress the Dark Lord, Crouch was too good to be left alone; Since childhood she had had a tremendous weakness for manipulating weak people.

She could barely wait to implement her new plan for more than a few hours into the night. Once she was certain that Rodolphus was asleep, she slipped out of bed and into her private parlor, locking the door behind her in silence. Then, in the light of a single candle, she began writing a letter to Barty Crouch, from a young anonymous witch who had noticed him that day, but was too shy to approach him. By the time she had decided the letter was perfect, the sun was almost up. She had was too excited to sleep, even after she had sent the owl. She spent the whole day waiting. That evening the answer came, and she locked herself in the parlor once again to read it.

As the correspondence continued, the letters became longer and longer. Bella could see the boy's excitement in his imprecise handwriting, that hastened to reveal to her all his feelings and thoughts. After dropping some clues about her support of the Dark Lord, he shared his views even more freely. It was almost too easy.

Bella had always liked to be the bad girl. She always did the opposite of what had been expected of her, and loved being caught. But since wearing the mask for the first time, she realized that there was even greater pleasure in careful planning, in committing the perfect crime, and in the knowledge that she would never be caught. Perhaps she had matured as a result of her marriage, or maybe it was her new and challenging goal that gave her the patience to stand weeks of correspondence as she paved her way to her goal with caution.

As October rolled along the nights became unbearably cold. She made sure that a house elf would light the fireplace in the parlor before she sat down to work, and by the hot, flickering light of the flames she began to send her fingers to the prize. What was he currently working on at the Ministry? What was his father working on? How is the bill of the capture of dark wizards coming along? How does the Department of Magical Law Enforcement function?

Crouch answered all the questions with precision, even adding details and explanations on his own behalf, letter after letter, and closing his explanations and stories, time after time, with a request to meet her. Bella didn't let it phase her. She asked him gently to be patient. Her father forbids her to meet men, she wrote: They have to wait for a moment when she could get away, and then they could have their long-awaited meeting. Crouch swallowed all the lies with starvation, and even wrote whole parchments about how similar they were. His own father holds him on a short leash, too, he wrote. Bella wrote that she thought a man like him shouldn't let others humiliate him, encouraged him to stand up for himself, and signed the letter with a red imprint of her own lips.

She waited for the week before Halloween to send Crouch an emotional letter telling him that her father had to go on an unexpected journey and that tomorrow night she could slip away to meet him. The replay arrived that very night, confirming that he would arrive to their meeting.

The next evening she lied and said she had been invited to dinner at her parents', Bella slipped away from the Lestrange Estate. But instead of Appearting to her parents' house, she appeared in a back alley behind a small corner inn on Knockturn Alley. She covered her head with the hood of her cloak, and as the last rays of the sun died over the roofs, she stepped inside The Owl's Eye Inn.

It was a dingy, gloomy place, nearly empty at that time of evening. She approached the innkeeper and asked him for the room she had ordered in advance under a false name. He took her upstairs without questions, and without asking her to reveal her face.

In the neglected room, after the innkeeper had left, she charmed the door to lock on its own after being shut. Then she dragged an armchair to face the single window and sat in it, her back to the door and the hood still covering her head. Then she waited, waited more patiently that she had ever done anything in her life. It was getting dark, but she didn't turn on the light, nor did she light the fireplace to chase away the chill. She didn't want to admit it, but the truth was she was nervous. One miscalculated step and her plan could go terribly wrong...

As expected of someone like him, Barty Crouch was precisely on time. Bella knew it was him when she head someone lingering behind the door before knocking lightly.

"Come in," she called as softly as she could.

He entered with uncertainty. She watched him through her pocket mirror. He was wearing a very ugly formal gray-green robe with fine yellow stripes, and his mousy hair was sleeked back with a shiny ointment. To lapel attached to a white, wind-blown flower, and in his hand held a bouquet of red roses.

As soon as he noticed her in the gloom he closed the door, which locked with a click. He glanced at it in confusion and Bella sprang into action; she jumped to her feet and disarmed the very bewildered Crouch.

Even as his wand jumped into her hand, he didn't seem to realized what was going on. He just stood there, holding the stupid flowers, as Bella commanded a fire in the fireplace and pushed back her hood.

"Hello, Barty," she said.

"You?..." He stammered, eyes wide. The situation was almost comic. "Are you... Is this a prank or – ?"

"I'm afraid not, Barty," she said casually, knowing better than to spook him. She summoned two crystal glasses. "Whisky? Or are you more of a wine person?"

"Y-you wrote the letters?" He was still warping his head around the situation. "W-why – ?"

She poured fine whisky into two glasses, delaying her answer. When she went to give him one he stepped back in fright, as if attacked. Not phased by his reaction, she handed him the glass at arm's length.

"I'll be candid with you, Barty," she said as he took the glass in hesitation. "I wrote you these letters because I wanted to gain your trust. I know you're frightened of me."

"I'm... I'm not..."

"It's alright, Barty. Everyone is."

She was astonishing herself with her gentleness and patience. Maybe she didn't need the mask to be someone else – maybe she really could play any part she wanted.

As the roomed became warmer, she took off her cloak, remaining in a simple low- cut dark green dress, and sat down by the fire. The gesture seemed to make Crouch easier, and he stepped forward from the door.

"What do you want?" he asked in a steadier voice.

"I want us to be partners," she said, "I think there's a lot we can do for each other."

"L-like what?" Crouch asked with a blush.

Bella smirked, knowing what was going on in his head. All men were the same. Making her next move, she said, "My letters weren't fiction, you know. I do think there is more to you than meets the eye. And I really do think you should stick it to your father."

Crouch shook his head, finally putting down the flowers. "No. You lied. You pretended to be in love with me."

Bella rolled her eyes. "Really, Barty – you're locked in a room with a witch who disarmed you and all you can think about is that she doesn't love you? You won't get anywhere with that set of mind, love."

Crouch was taken aback by the nickname. He wasn't falling in her net as easily as she thought he would.

"Drink, and let's talk business," she tried a different angle. "The drink isn't poisoned."

Crouch took a long swing from his drink, appearing distressed. "You're going to blackmail me, aren't you?" He then said in a shaky voice, "You're going to tell my father everything."

"It doesn't have to get to that," she said earnestly. "You would be more valuable to the Dark Lord if – "

"The Dark Lord?" Crouch turned completely white. "He sent you?"

"You could say that," she lied.

But it didn't have the effect she hoped it would. Crouch spilled his drink as he placed it by the flowers and went to the door, trying to open it hoplessly. Rolling her eyes, Bella stepped towards him and pulled him away from the door.

"Please!" he called pathetically. "I don't want anything to do with him!"

"You should have thought of that before you started running around with his little fans," she said in a low voice, her face very close to his.

She shouldn't have lost her temper – he panicked even more, pushing her hard and running to the window. He manged to open it and take one look at the street three stories down – light snow was falling amidst dusk – before she grabbed him again, pinning him hard to the window pane, her wand at his throat.

"Are you that scared, that you would jump out of the window and not join him?" She asked with genuine curiosity, the cold air stinging her face.

Crouch didn't answer, his eyes on the floor. Bella grabbed his sweaty chin and made him look into her eyes.

"As I see it, you have two choices," she said softly. "Either you leave here and live the rest of your miserable life in your father's shadow, or you join me to do things that would make you great. Don't you want to be great?"

He licked his lips, staring as if hypnotized by her gaze. She saw it in his eyes – he wanted to be great.

"The Dark Lord is going to rule everything, soon. If you work with me I will make sure he takes us with him. I have a plan."

"How do I know I can trust you?" He almost whispered.

"You don't," she said. "You know me – you know my reputation, anyway. But I can give you a guaranty."

"What – ?"

She crushed his mouth with hers. At first he was too shocked to do anything but let her kiss him, until she reached for his fly; He tensed, then gave up as he fingers closed around his cock, starting to kiss her back with unexperienced lips. He came very quickly, with almost no effort on her behalf.

Glad for the turn of events, Bella stepped back, letting her slump against the windowsill. She vanished the mess from her hand, and then pressed the tip of her wand to her forehead. Crouch watched her with glazed eyes as she pulled a silver strand of a memory and placed it in a small vale she had brought with her. She sealed it and handed it to him.

"Now nether of us can betray the other," she said. "If you cross me I'll show your father the letters, and if I cross you, you can show that memory to my husband. It's mine, so no one could claim it was tempered with. My mother in law would make a celebration out of it..."

She waited for him to say something, but he was still shocked.

"Still want to jump out of the window?" She joked.

He shook his head sharply, mute. His face was red, his hair wild and the white flower on his breast was crumpled. Bella plucked a rose from the bouquet and replaced it with the white one. Crouch's eyes followed her with a glazed, fascinated look, and she know she gain herself an ally.

"Are you with me, Barty?"

He hesitated, then nodded.

She gave him back his whisky. She sipped from her own glass, and it suddenly accrued to her that she never used to drink whisky before she married Rodolphus. Odd that she should think of him now, just when she had won this small victory on the way to her independence. And then she thought – what if Crouch would decide to show him the memory?...

She can't bother with that now, she told herself. She would just have to make sure that Crouch would be so deep under her spell that he would never think to betray her. Right now, she had a great plan to get under way before Halloween.

Pushing her husband out of her mind, she clinked their glasses together and looked into Crouch's eyes as she said, "To great deeds."


End file.
